UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


I 


^'f  ///n; 


/ 


w/ 


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■// 


ROBERT  BURNS 


AND 


MRS.  DUNLOP 


/\(oi^,f^W^ 


ROBERT   BURNS 

AND 

MRS.  DUNLOP 

CORRESPONDENCE    NOW  PUBLISHED    IN   FULL 
FOR    THE    FIRST   TIME 

WITH    ELUCIDATIONS    BY 

WILLIAM    WALLACE 

EDITOR    OF    ROBERT    CHAMBERS'S    '  LIFE    AND    WORKS 
OF    ROBERT    BURNS' 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES 
Volume  I. 


.1  5 


■i  O      'J  «  i) 


NEW   YORK 
DODD,  MEAD   AND    COMPANY 

1898 


Copyright,  1898, 
By  R.  B.  Adam. 


SEnibcrsitg  ?Press: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


5  'V'b'^\ 


0/ 


\ 


'^ 


Preface 


These  volumes  contain  ninety-six  letters  that  passed, 
in  the  course  of  their  ten  years'  friendship,  between 
Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop.  Currie,  in  his  Works  of 
Robert  Burns  (1800),  printed  thirty-nine  letters  of 
Burns  to    Mrs.   Dunlop ;    Cromek,   in    his   Rcliqucs, 

A  printed  three  more ;  and  Scott-Douglas,  in  his  Works 
of  Robert  Burns  (1877),  added  a  fourth'from  a  MS. 

\\  of  Mr.  Locker-Lampson's.  The  Lochryan  MSS.,  now 
in  the  possession  of  Mr.  R.  B.  Adam,  of  Buffalo, 
N.  Y.,  contain  thirty-eight  more  original  holograph 
letters  and  parts  of  letters  from  the  poet  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop,  together  with  MSS.  of  several  of  the 
Poems,  and  ninety-seven  letters  from  Mrs.  Dunlop 
to  Burns.  The  whole  of  these,  old  and  new,  have 
^  been  reproduced  here  with  the  utmost  possible  cor- 
J    rectness ;  the  few  lacunae  ascertained  and  conjectured 

^     are  indicated.     Four  of  the  letters  printed  by  Currie 

^  have  been  collated  with  the  original  MSS.  in  the 
collection  of  Mr.  Adam,  and  the  emendations  and 
additions  thence  derived  are  of  particular  interest, 
both  in  themselves  and  as  illustrations  of  Currie's 
editorial  method. 

The  Burns  letters  in  the  Lochryan  (Adam)  col- 
lection  are   the  surplus  of  the    selection    made  for 


1884.35 


vi  Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

Currie's  use  by  Mrs.  Dunlop  and  Gilbert  Burns 
from  the  MSS.  which  the  lady  had  in  her  posisession 
at  the  poet's  death.  It  is  unnecessary  here  to  do 
more  than  refer  to  the  story  of  the  bargain  she  struck 
with  those  who  had  charge  of  Burns 's  affairs.  Com- 
parison of  the  number  of  letters  she  wrote  to  the 
poet  with  the  number  he  wrote  to  her  further  dis- 
credits the  popular  tradition  as  to  her  jocular  repur- 
chase of  every  one  of  her  own  with  one  of  the  poet's. 
And  while  the  Lochryan  MSS.  proper  throw  no 
light  on  this  subject,  one  at  least  of  the  four  MSS. 
of  Mr.  Adam's  referred  to  above  confirms  Gilbert's 
statement  that  the  selection  was  made  by  Mrs. 
Dunlop  and  himself.  These  four  are  the  originals 
of  the  letters  of  12th  February  1788,  ist  January 
1789,  4th  March  1789,  and  6th  December  1792. 
That  of  4th  March  1789  is  docketed  "May  be 
printed"  in  Mrs.  Dunlop's  hand.  The  fact  that  the 
docket  on  that  of  12th  February  1788,  referred  to 
in  the  text,  is  in  a  hand  which  is  neither  Mrs. 
Dunlop's  nor  Gilbert's,  suggests  that  they  had  an 
assistant  in  the  work  of  selection. 

The  Lochryan  MSS.,  now  published  for  the  first 
time,  were  in  all  probability  never  seen  by  Currie. 
Manifestly  none  of  them  has  ever  been  handled  by 
either  editor  or  printer.  They  are  all  in  a  state  of 
beautiful  preservation,  and  include  at  least  as  fine 
specimens  of  the  poet's  handwriting  as  any  that 
have  seen  the  light  in  the  original  or  reproduction. 
Besides    the    letters   there   are    in    the    collection 


Prefac( 


Vll 


holograph  MSS.  of  "Tarn  o'  Shanter,"  the  first  draft 
of  "Passion's  Cry,"  "The  Chevalier's  Lament," 
"Lament  for  James,  Earl  of  Glencairn,"  "On  Read- 
ing in  a  Newspaper  the  Death  of  J.  M'Leod,  Esq., 
brother  to  Miss  T.  M'Leod,  a  particular  friend  of 
the  Author's,"  "On  Scaring  some  Water-fowl  on 
Loch  Turit,"  "O  Love  will  venture  in  where  it 
darena  weel  be  seen,"  and  two  dubious  originals, 
"On  a  Tear,"  and  "The  Tears  I  shed  must  ever 
fall." 

Mrs.  Dunlop  kept  the  Lochryan  MSS.  at  Dunlop 
till  her  death,  when  she  left  the  estate  of  Lochryan 
and  the  MSS.  to  her  grandson,  General  Sir  John 
Wallace,  from  whom  the  documents  descended  to  his 
son  and  heir,  the  next  possessor  of  Lochryan,  who 
left  them  by  will  to  his  youngest  brother,  the 
present  Colonel  F.  J.  Wallace,  from  whom  they 
were  recently  acquired  by  Mr.  Adam.  They  have 
thus  been  continuously  in  the  hands  of  the  Dunlop- 
Wallace  family  during  the  past  century.  Colonel 
Wallace  states  that  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge 
they  have  been  kept  in  a  box  in  the  safe-room  at 
Lochryan  for  the  last  fifty  years. 

The  interweaving  of  this  new  material  with  the 
old  makes  the  Correspondence  of  Burns  and  Mrs. 
Dunlop  almost  unique  in  its  completeness.  A  care- 
ful search  after  possible  lacunae  has  discovered  no 
more  than  four  places  where  it  can  be  definitely 
stated  that  a  letter  of  Burns  is  missing,  and  of  the 
gross  sum  of  Mrs.   Dunlop' s  it  appears  that  Burns 


viii        Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

had  lost  or  destroyed  only  nine  —  a  circumstance 
which  must  have  wiped  out  the  memory  of  the  many 
proofs  the  lady  had  received  that  he  did  not  always 
read  her  communications  with  the  most  respectful 
care,  and  at  the  same  time  must  have  deepened  the 
remorse  she  felt  for  her  neglect  of  the  poet  during 
the  last  eighteen  months  of  his  life. 

Students  of  Burns  will  be  interested,  in  the  first 
place,  to  know  what  light  the  Lochryan  MSS.  throw 
on  the  cause  of  that  unhappy  episode  in  the  poet's 
life.  The  point  is  fully  discussed  in  the  text  (vol.  ii. 
p.  289,  etc.),  but  it  may  be  said  generally  that  a  broad 
view  of  the  complete  Correspondence,  now  possible 
for  the  first  time,  strongly  favours  the  theory  that 
Mrs.  Dunlop's  failure  to  answer  Burns's  letters  of 
1795  and  1796  was  due  to  inadvertence  rather  than 
to  any  offence  he  could,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
have  given  her,  and  that  if  pique  influenced  her  — ■ 
that  is  to  say,  if  her  silence  was  caused  by  his  failure 
to  answer  promptly  the  last  letter  she  sent  him 
from  London  in  January  of  1795  —  his  previous 
negligence  had  afforded  her  at  least  a  pretext  for 
the  severe  punishment  she  inflicted.  A  glance  at 
the  table  of  dates  iinfrd)  will  show  which  of  the  two 
had  the  better  reason,  on  the  whole,  to  reproach 
the  other  with  neglect. 

The  new  matter  is  otherwise  remarkably  rich  in 
fresh  biographical  details,  in  illustration  not  only 
of  the  relations  between  the  two  friends,  but  also  of 
the  poet's  character,  walk,  and  conversation,  and  in 


Preface 


IX 


material  for  study  of  the  text  of  numerous  poems. 
It  reveals  the  fact  that  it  was  at  least  within  the 
bounds  of  possibility  that  Burns  might  have  been  a 
military  officer,  and  alternatively  a  professor  in  the 
University  of  Edinburgh,  and  that  Adam  Smith, 
who  has  not  hitherto  been  known  to  have  taken 
much  interest  in  him,  conceived  at  a  very  early  date 
the  idea  of  making  him  a  Salt  Officer  in  the  Cus- 
toms service  at  a  salary  of  ;;^30  a  year.  Burns  cer- 
tainly dallied  with  the  notion  of  taking  a  stand  of 
colours,  and  uncommon  pains  were  taken  by  Mrs. 
Dunlop  and  Dr.  Moore  to  procure  for  him  the  nomi- 
nation to  the  Chair  of  Agriculture  in  Edinburgh, 
which  was  founded  in  1787.  Much  that  is  new 
is  brought  out  as  to  his  connection  with  the  Ex- 
cise; for  example,  the  fact  that  he  aimed  from 
the  first  at  a  Port-Officership  with  its  superior 
emoluments,  the  probable  date  of  his  initiation 
into  his  profession,  Corbet's  services  to  him,  and 
so  forth. 

There  has  hitherto  been  no  evidence  that  Burns 
was  so  deeply  indebted  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  in  a  pecuniary 
sense  as  his  brother  Gilbert  alleged.  In  the  new 
letters  there  is  proof  that  she  sent  him  an  occasional 
gift  of  a  j£$  note.  The  sum  of  these  could  not  have 
amounted  to  a  great  deal.  It  is  of  more  interest  to 
note  the  poet's  attitude  to  this  kindly  habit  of  his 
not  very  wealthy  friend.  At  first  he  was  deeply 
offended,  and  he  was,  of  course,  never  exactly  com- 
fortable under  the  beneficence  of  his  correspondent; 


X  Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

but  he  reasoned  himself  into  toleration  in  several 
characteristic  epistles.  She  treated  him  all  along 
as  a  social  equal  and  an  intellectual  superior;  that 
circumstance  alone  sufficed  to  put  any  offensive 
interpretation  of  her  practice  out  of  the  question. 
The  new  light  upon  the  subject  confirms  —  if  confir- 
mation were  necessary  —  the  view  that  her  gifts  of 
money  were  presents  in  exactly  the  same  kind  as  his 
gifts  of  books  and  cognac  to  her,  and  in  no  sense 
dictated  by  charity  or  the  notion  that  he  required  at 
any  time  pecuniary  assistance. 

Mrs.  Dunlop,  as  will  be  seen,  was  a  fearless  critic 
of  Burns.  Almost  the  first  subject  she  exploited  in 
the  correspondence  was  the  "  undecent "  blots  she 
discovered  and  wished  removed  in  the  Kilmarnock 
edition.  He  treated  her  remonstrances  on  that  head 
and  her  literary  criticisms  generally  with  scant 
respect.  There  is  very  much  in  these  pages  illus- 
trative of  that  well-known  saying  of  his  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop  —  "  You  are  right  in  your  guess  that  I  am 
not  very  amenable  to  counsel."  His  Fescennine 
excursions  he  defended  in  a  manner  characteristically 
human.  "You  may  guess,"  he  said,  "that  the  con- 
vivial hours  of  men  have  their  mysteries  of  wit  and 
mirth,  and  I  hold  it  a  piece  of  contemptible  base- 
ness to  detail  the  sallies  of  thoughtless  merriment, 
or  the  orgies  of  accidental  intoxication  to  the  ear  of 
cool  sobriety  or  female  delicacy." 

Burns's  "religion  of  the  heart"  is  expounded 
anew  in  several  of  the  Lochryan  letters  with  warm 


Preface  xi 

eloquence.     What  could  be  choicer  in  this  line  than 
his  consolatory  epistle  of  9th  July  1790? 

Thomson  says  finely  — 

Attach  thee  firmly  to  the  virtuous  deeds 
And  oifices  of  life  —  to  life  itself  — 
And  all  its  transient  joys  sit  loose. 

And  yet,  like  many  other  fine  sayings,  it  has,  I  fear,  more 
of  philosophy  than  human  nature  in  it.  Poor  David's  pa- 
thetic cry  of  grief  is  much  more  the  language  of  man  :  "  O 
Absalom  !  My  son  !  My  son!"  A  world  to  Come!  is  the 
only  genuine  balm  for  an  agonising  heart,  torn  to  pieces  in 
the  wrench  of  parting  for  ever  (to  mortal  view)  with  friends, 
inmates  of  the  bosom  and  dear  to  the  soul ! 

A  letter  assigned  conjecturally  to  Miss  Rachel 
Dunlop  as  recipient  contains  an  even  more  remark- 
able and  interesting  protest  against  original  sin. 

The  value  of  the  Lochryan  MSS.  for  textual  and 
critical  purposes  is  very  great ;  it  has  been  to  some 
extent  used  for  these  purposes,  but  a  closer  study  of 
the  documents  has  revealed  several  not  unimportant 
errors  in  the  deductions  recently  drawn.  The  dates 
of  quite  a  number  of  poems  and  letters  have  had 
to  be  altered  in  the  light  of  the  Correspondence  as 
here  completed.  Note,  in  particular,  the  establish- 
ment of  the  right  date  of  the  "New  Year's  Day 
Address"  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  (1789  instead  of  1790), 
and  the  clearing  up  of  the  mystery  of  the  date  and 
place  of  composition  of  the  last  of  the  Ellisland 
letters,   which  has  yet  hitherto  seemed  to  be  also 


xii         Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

one  of  the  first  of  the  Dumfries  ones.  There  are 
here  earlier  versions  than  any  hitherto  known  of 
various  poems,  new  facts  about  the  building  up  of 
"The  Poet's  Progress,"  and  a  valuable  contribution 
to  the  controversy  about  "Passion's  Cry." 

There  is  a  notable  contribution  to  Burns  apolo- 
getics in  the  fact  confirmed  by  Mrs.  Dunlop's  letters 
of  the  time,  that  Mrs.  Burns  spent  part  of  the 
summer  of  1790  —  the  year  of  the  Anne  Park  episode 
—  in  Ayrshire. 

The  new  Burns  letters  in  the  text  are  exact  copies 
of  the  originals,  spelling  and  punctuation  being 
adhered  to  with  all  but  literal  precision.  Whole 
letters  and  parts  of  letters  not  previously  published 
are  distinguished  by  a  line  running  down  the  left 
side  of  the  letterpress.  The  text  of  the  four  old 
letters,  of  which  the  MSS.  are  in  the  Adam  collec- 
tion, has  been  made  to  agree  with  the  originals,  and 
for  the  rest  of  the  old  letters  the  best  available 
revisions  have  been  utilised.  Mrs.  Dunlop's  letters 
have  not  been  reproduced  with  quite  the  same  exacti- 
tude. Her  actual  misspellings  have  been  corrected, 
but  an  attempt  has  been  made  to  retain  such  so- 
called  misspellings  as  were  current  at  the  time, 
such  as  "an  wound,"  which  affords  a  graphic  illus- 
tration of  the  current  pronunciation.  She  did  not 
punctuate,  and  that  defect  has  been  supplied. 
Addresses  of  letters  are  indicated  by  Ad.  prefixed  at 
the  margin;  where  the  superscription  is  "To  Mrs. 
Dunlop"  or  "To  Burns,"  no  authentic  address  has 


Preface  xiii 

been  found.  Those  marked  "franked  by  Kerr" 
were  addressed  by  the  secretary  to  the  Post  Office, 
whose  whole-hearted  admiration  of  Burns  procured 
him  so  frequently  the  privilege  of  receiving  his 
letters  without  the  heavy  tax  of  fourpence  for  a 
"single"  and  eightpence  for  a  "double."  The 
numerous  notes,  as  well  as  the  connecting  and 
explanatory  narrative,  are  printed  in  large  type  for 
convenience  of  reference,  and  because  they  are  in 
the  great  majority  of  cases  comments  on  the  letters 
which  they  elucidate. 

Mrs.  Dunlop's  letters  to  Burns,  now  published  for 
the  first  time,  are  almost  as  essential  as  his  own  to 
a  right  understanding  of  the  period  of  his  life  — 
the  last  decade  —  which  they  cover.  She  was  a  very 
different  woman  from  Mrs,  Maclehose;  her  portrait 
suggests  capacity  and  strength  of  will  rather  than  a 
tendency  to  Werterism.  But  she  was  in  her  way 
as  much  of  a  sentimentalist.  There  are  almost  in- 
numerable and  very  pathetic  indications  in  her  Cor- 
respondence—  which  is  of  all  the  more  value  that  it 
was  never  intended  for  publication  —  that  she  re- 
garded the  advent  of  a  letter  from  him  as  an  event 
of  supreme  importance.  She  was  in  agony  when,  for 
some  unforeseen  reason,  he  failed  to  answer  her. 
She  studied  and  commented  on  every  line  that  he 
sent  her.  She  was  willing  to  write  three  letters  to 
his  one;  and  yet  she  took  the  most  modest  view  of 
her  own  part  in  the  Correspondence.  "  I  deceive 
myself  most  egregiously, "  she  says  with  a  sigh  and 


xiv        Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

yet  almost  with  a  touch  of  old-fashioned  coquetry, 
"  if  you  would  not  be  melancholy  for  at  least  two 
hours   after  my  demise,   whose  Correspondence  has 
been  to  me  a  varied  scene  of  hope  and  delight,  and 
an  intercourse  of  that  mixture  between  amusement 
and  esteem  to  which  I  believed  I  was  wholly  super- 
annuated."    Her  letters  to  Burns  must  be  read  as 
carefully  as  Clarinda's,   for  though  there  is  absent 
from  them  the  fascination  of  a  hopeless  passion,  her 
almost    motherly   anxiety   concerned    itself   equally 
with  his  character  and  with  his  reputation,  took  stock 
of  every  scrap  of  his  verse,  and  of  every  action  of 
his  life.     Thus  it  is  quite  impossible  to  understand 
Burns' s  defiant  declaration   so  variously  criticised, 
that  he  was  a  stranger  alike  to  jealousy  and  to  infi- 
delity, until  one  has  read  the  remarkable  and  merci- 
lessly plain-spoken  letter  from  Mrs.   Dunlop  which 
called  that  assertion  forth — ^the  letter  in  which  she 
warns  him  against  thinking  lightly  of  his  wife  be- 
cause she  had  "  succumbed  "  to  him  before  marriage. 
It  is  equally  impossible  to  understand  the  letter  of 
Burns,   now  published   for  the  first  time,   in  which 
he  almost  grandiloquently  but  effectually   disposes 
in  advance  of  the  modern  theory  that  he  was  "  an  in- 
spired faun"  and  "a  lewd  peasant  of  genius,"  with- 
out reading  the  letter  in  which  Mrs.   Dunlop,  also 
anticipating   certain  modern  criticism,   writes,    "A 
gentleman  told  me  with  a  grave  face  the  other  day 
that   you   certainly   were   a   sad   wretch,    that  your 
works  were  immoral  and  infamous,  that  you  lam- 


Preface 


XV 


pooned  the  clergy  and  laughed  at  the  ridiculous  parts 
of  religion,  and  he  was  told  you  were  a  scandalous 
free-liver  in  every  sense  of  the  word."  In  addition, 
Mrs.  Dunlop's  letters,  in  equal  measure  with  the 
new  ones  from  him  to  her,  throw  a  flood  of  light 
upon  various  events  in  his  life,  upon  his  desperate 
struggle  with  farming  difficulties  in  Ellisland,  upon 
his  start  as  an  exciseman,  upon  the  earnest  desire  of 
his  Ayrshire  friends,  who  were  evidently  not  of  the 
insincere  or  fair-weather  order,  to  secure  for  him  an 
academic  or  other  position  worthy  of  him. 

The  relation  between  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop  is 
probably  unique  in  literary  history.  She  was  not 
to  him  what  Madame  de  Warens  was  to  Rousseau 
or  what  "  the  divine  Emily  "  was  to  Voltaire,  or  what 
Charlotte  von  Stein  was  to  Goethe.  She  did  not 
inspire  him  to  literary  exertion  as  Lady  Hesketh 
inspired  Cowper,  although  she  had  some  ambition 
that  way.  Her  own  view  of  the  relationship  she 
wished  to  establish  is  indeed  given  in  one  of  the 
earliest  of  her  letters,  "  I  have  been  told  Voltaire 
read  all  his  manuscripts  to  an  old  woman  and 
printed  nothing  but  what  she  approved.  I  wish 
you  would  name  me  to  her  office."  Although  Burns 
did  not  appoint  her  to  the  "office,"  she  appointed 
herself.  In  her  letters  she  appears,  as  has  already 
been  said,  as  his  constant  and  sometimes  even  ruth- 
less critic.  Occasionally  "broad"  in  speech  with 
the  "  breadth  "  of  her  century,  she  was  fiercely  con- 
servative   in   all   matters  of   morality,  and  even  of 


xvi        Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 


"impropriety"  in  phraseology.  Often  her  literary 
criticism  is  sadly  and  even  ludicrously  inept,  as  in 
what  she  says  about  "The  Twa  Dogs,"  and  in  her 
suggestion  that  Burns  should  imitate  the  "chaste  " 
Thomson.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  Burns 
resented,  and  was  even  deeply  offended  at,  her 
strictures  upon  "Tarn  o'  Shanter,"  which  are  indeed 
provokingly  wooden.  But  occasionally  she  seems  to 
anticipate  the  verdict  of  posterity.  Thus  when  her 
correspondent  sent  her  a  copy  of  that  "  infusion  of 
gall,  wormwood,  and  aquafortis,"  his  terrible  "Ode 
to  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Oswald  of  Auchincruive," 
she  asked  him  good-naturedly,  "  Are  you  not  a  sad 
wicked  creature  to  send  a  poor  old  wife  straight  to 
the  Devil,  because  she  gave  you  a  ride  in  a  cold 
night?"  Very  many  readers  of  the  Ode  during  the 
past  hundred  years  must  have  wished  for  an  oppor- 
tunity of  putting  the  same  question.  On  another 
point  which  has  recently  been  raised  afresh  by  the 
representation  of  Burns  as  an  enemy  of  "the  Kirk" 
her  common-sense  enabled  her  to  take  the  right  side. 
When  he  was  attacked  in  her  presence  as  an  assailant 
of  religion,  she  pointed  out  that  his  satires  were 
really  directed  at  persons  who  were  "too  black  for 
his  ink,  low  beneath  his  pen."  But  "I  begged  to 
appeal  to  the  lines  left  in  Mr.  Lawrie's  manse  as 
proof  positive  that  the  clergy  were  not  attacked  in 
a  collective  body."  It  must  be  allowed,  however, 
that  Mrs.  Dunlop  is  much  more  successful  as  a  critic 
of  conduct  than  of  poetry.     The  advices  she  gives 


Preface 


xvii 


Burns  are  those  of  a  mother  to  a  grown-up  son 
whose  powers  she  takes  pride  in,  but  whose  passions 
she  is  afraid  of.  She  encourages  him  in  domesticity. 
After  she  has  an  opportunity  of  seeing  Jean  she 
is  warm  in  praise  of  his  choice.  But  she  fears  the 
"temptations  "  of  life  in  the  excise.  She  gives  as  an 
argument  in  favour  of  his  candidature  for  the  Pro- 
fessorship of  Agriculture  in  Edinburgh  University 
that  a  "  grave  member  of  the  College  would  not  be 
so  often  the  prey  of  jolly  Bacchus  as  an  exciseman." 
Mrs.  Dunlop  was  not  a  blue-stocking.  Her  spell- 
ing, as  has  been  seen,  was  not  perfect,  but  in  her 
day,  as  Thackeray  has  said,  "  people  as  soon  thought 
of  doing  their  own  washing  as  their  own  spelling." 
But  she  knew  her  Bible  and  her  Burns,  her  Thomson 
and  her  Shenstone,  her  Richardson  and  her  Fielding. 
She  had  at  least  a  superficial  acquaintance  with  the 
more  popular  Continental  literature  of  her  time,  and 
on  the  whole  was  probably  more  cultured  and  had  a 
keener  interest  in  literature  than  most  Scottish  and 
English  gentlewomen  in  the  end  of  last  century. 
She  wrote  indifferent  verses  and  sent  them  to  Burns. 
She  did  not  place  too  much  stress  on  these  exercises ; 
on  the  contrary,  "  I  wonder  at  the  ease  (impudence 
anybody  else  would  call  it)  with  which  I  scribble 
all  my  nonsense  to  you  as  a  child  would  scratch 
mathematical  schemes  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton. "  I  have 
thought  it  therefore  advisable,  and  indeed  only  fair 
to  her  memory,  to  give  general  indications  of  her 
"schemes,"  but  not  to  print  them  in  full.     When 


xviii     Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

one  reads  her  letters  indeed,  one  is  surprised  that 
she  had  time  or  heart  for  literary  concerns  at  all. 
She  appears  in  them  as  a  woman  of  many  cares  and 
sorrows,  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  Correspondence, 
at  all  events,  of  not  a  few  mortifications.  These  she 
pours  with  Richardsonian  precision,  and  occasionally 
with  Richardsonian  prolixity,  into  the  sympathetic 
ear  of  Burns.  Sometimes  she  bursts  unconsciously 
into  poetry  much  more  genuine  than  her  set  efiorts, 
as  when,  writing  from  Loudon  Castle  where  her 
son-in-law  lies  dead,  and  two  daughters  are  prostiate, 
she  puts  an  Iliad  of  misery  and  anxiety  in  the  nut- 
shell of  "  'T  is  for  light  sorrows  women  weep."  On 
the  whole,  it  may  be  doubted  if  Burns  ever  met  a  kind- 
lier or  wiser  woman  than  Mrs.  Dunlop;  the  res.^ect 
for  her  which  found  expression  in  the  agony  of  his 
last  days  was  well  founded.  It  may  be  that  she 
"deserted"  him  during  these  days,  that  instead  of 
telling  him  of  reports  she  may  have  heard  to  his 
detriment,  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing, 
and  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  vindicating  his 
character,  she  believed  them  without  examination. 
On  this  point,  as  has  been  said,  the  Correspondence 
throws  little  light.  But  there  is  some  reason  to 
believe  that  when  the  "calm  afternoon  of  life"  for 
which  Mrs.  Dunlop  sighed,  came  to  her,  she  cher- 
ished a  peculiar  affection  for  the  man  of  genius 
whose  greatness,  in  common  with  her  generation, 
she  but  imperfectly  understood,  who,  "spirit  fierce 
and  bold  "  though  he  was,  gave  her  consolation  in 


Preface 


XIX 


her  hour  of  affliction  and  wounded  pride,  of  whom  — 
such  was  her  view  of  her  own  position  as  "  honoured 
patron"  — •  she  wrote,  "  I  declare,  upon  soul  and  con- 
science, that  I  regard  it  as  a  singular  honour  and 
happiness,  nay,  one  of  those  upon  which  I  have  ever 
valued  myself  most,  that  you  think  my  health  or  me 
worth  being  interested  in,  or  preferring  a  warm  re- 
quest to  be  informed  about." 

I  am  greatly  indebted  to  Miss  Agnes  E.  A.  Wal- 
lace, Laggray,  Row,  for  granting  me  permission  to 
reproduce  the  portrait,  taken  at  the  age  of  seventeen, 
of  her  great-grandmother,  Mrs,  Dunlop,  which  is 
her  property.  I  have  also  to  express  my  thanks  to 
the  numerous  gentlemen  who  have  assisted  me  while 
preparing  this  volume  for  publication  —  in  particular 
to  J.  A.  A.  Wallace,  Esq.,  of  Lochryan,  and  to 
Colonel  F.  J.  Wallace  of  Arrandale,  Ayr,  for  freely 
and  fully  supplying  me  with  details  of  family  history; 
to  Major  Dalrymple  Hay  for  giving  particulars  of  the 
history  of  Dunlop  House  and  estate;  and  to  Provost 
Mackay,  Mr.  David  Sneddon,  Mr.  Duncan  M' Naught, 
and  Mr.  George  Dunlop  of  Kilmarnock,  and  Mr. 
William  Rattray,  Dunlop,  for  innumerable  services. 
For  invaluable  and  enthusiastic  co-operation  in 
the  work  of  arrangement,  research,  and  revision, 
I  cannot  be  too  grateful  to  my  friend  Mr.  James 
Davidson. 

William  Wallace. 

Glasgow,  January  1898. 


Introduction 

MRS.   DUNLOP   AND   HER   FAMILY 

In  the  baptismal  register  of  Ayr  there  is  the  follow- 
ing entry:  "Frances  Anna  Wallace,  lawful  daughter 
to  Sir  Thomas  Wallace  of  Craigie,  advocate,  and 
Dame  Eleanora  Agnew,  his  lady,  was  born  April 
1 6th,  1730,  baptized  Wednesday  the  22nd  of  the 
same  month  by  Mr.  John  Hunter  privately." 

Mrs.  Dunlop  was  very  proud  of  her  pedigree  and 
of  her  connection  by  blood  with  the  Liberator  of 
Scotland ;  and  she  was  encouraged  in  her  pride  by 
Burns.  But  she  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  "  de- 
scendant" of  the  patriot,  though  she  could  claim 
direct  descent  from  the  founder  of  the  Wallace 
family,  Richard  the  Welshman,  who  accompanied 
the  Norman  Walter  Fitzalan,  founder  of  the  House 
of  Stuart,  from  Oswestry  on  the  Welsh  Border  into 
Scotland,  at  the  time  when  David  I.  was  bent  on 
anglicising  his  country,  and  invited  Southrons,  both 
barons  and  priests,  to  aid  him  in  the  work.  Adam 
Wallace  of  Riccarton  (Richardton,  the  home  of 
Richard)  was  in  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century 
regarded   as  the  head  of  his  house.^     He  had  two 

^  Dr.  J.  O.  Mitchell,  the  distinguished  Glasgow  antiquary,  has 
given  it  as  his  view  —  on  which  I  express  no  opinion  —  that  the 
present  head  of  the  Wallace  family  is  Mr.  H.  R.  Wallace  of  Clon- 
caird,   Ayrshire,  as  being  "  undoubted  representative  by   unbroken 

xxi 


xxii       Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

sons,  of  whom  the  younger,  Malcolm,  became  the 
father  of  Sir  William  Wallace  of  Elderslie.  The 
elder,  Sir  Richard,  was  ancestor  of  Mrs.  Dunlop. 
He  married  Lady  Helen  Bruce,  daughter  of  the  Earl 
of  Carrick,  so  that  Mrs.  Dunlop  could  claim  kinship 
with  both  of  Scotland's  heroes.  John  of  Richardton, 
grandson  of  Sir  Richard  and  Lady  Helen,  married 
Dame  Margaret,  only  daughter  and  heiress  of  Sir 
James  Lindsay  of  Craigie.  It  was  arranged  on  the 
occasion  of  this  marriage  that  the  family  should  for 
all  time  bear  the  title  of  Craigie.  The  Wallaces  of 
Craigie  intermarried  with  the  best  families  in  Scot- 
land—  Douglases,  Maxwells,  Kennedys,  Rutherfords, 
Johnstones,  Campbells,  and  Cunninghams.  The  baron- 
etcy came  in  with  Sir  Hew,  last  but  three  of  the 
Wallaces  of  Craigie.  He  was  succeeded  by  his 
cousin  Sir  Thomas,  an  eminent  lawyer,  who  attained 
to  the  position  of  Lord-Justice  Clerk.  Two  sons  of 
the  latter,  William  and  Thomas,  were  successively 
holders  of  the  estate  and  title.  Sir  Thomas  married 
Eleanor,  only  daughter  and  heiress  of  Colonel  Andrew 
Agnew  of  Lochryan,  Wigtownshire.  They  had  two 
children,  Thomas  who  predeceased  his  father,  dying 
in  1756,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven  —  he  was  a 
Guardsman,  and  his  sister  told  Burns  that  he  was 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey  —  and  Frances  Anna 

male  descent  of  the  John  Wallace  who  was  owner  of  Elderslie  in 
1390."  Of  the  Lochryan  family  he  says  that  they,  "springing  from 
an  elder  brother  of  the  John  Wallace  of  Elderslie  of  1390,  un- 
doubtedly represent  the  Riccartons  of  whom  the  Elderslies  were 
cadets,  but  they  are  not  Wallaces,  but  Dunlops  of  Dunlop,  and  if 
they  had  had  an  unquestioned  male  descent  from  Richard  the 
Welshman,  it  is  not  clear  how  the  representation  of  the  stem  would 
have  given  them  the  representation  of  the  branch." 


Introduction  xxiii 


who  became  Mrs.   Dunlop.      She  was  thus  twenty- 
first  in  descent  from  Richard  the  Welshman. 

Frances  Anna  Wallace  married  in  1748  John  Dun- 
lop of  Dunlop^  (17th  of  that  ilk),  the  representative 
of  an  Ayrshire  family,  almost  as  old  as  her  own. 
"  Gulielmus  de  Dunlop  "  appears  in  a  notarial  copy  of 
an  inquest  in  the  charter  chest  of  the  burgh  of  Irvine 
in  1260.  A  Neil  Fitz-Robert  dc  Dunlap  signed  the 
Ragman  Roll  in  1296.  We  hear  of  a  John  de  Dun- 
lop in  1407  who  was  probably  father  of  Alexander 
Dunlop  of  Hunthall,  "  whose  son  was  John  Dunlop 
of  that  ilk,  who  begot  Robert  Dunlop  of  Hartland, 
whose  daughter  married  Hugh  Maxwell  of  Auldhouse 
soon  after  1500."  In  the  seventeenth  century  most 
of  the  Dunlops  were  warm  supporters  of  the  Presby- 
terian cause ;  most  of  the  Wallaces,  on  the  other 
hand,  were  partisans  of  the  House  of  Stuart.  In 
1684  John  Dunlop  succeeded  in  getting  part  of  his 
lands  converted    into   the  free  barony  of   Dunlop.^ 

1  According  to  an  exceptionally  well  accredited  family  tradition 
they  made  a  runaway  match  from  Dunskey  House,  the  property  of  the 
Hunter-Blair  family  near  Portpatrick,  where  they  happened  to  meet. 

2  The  lands  of  Dunlop,  in  the  district  of  Cuninghame,  Ayrshire, 
were  held  continuously  by  the  family  of  that  name  from  1260  to  1S43, 
when  they  were  sold  by  the  Trustees  of  the  late  Sir  John  Dunlop, 
Baronet,  to  Thomas  Dunlop  Douglas,  a  wealthy  Glasgow  merchant, 
and  a  descendant  of  the  Garnkirk  branch  of  the  Dunlops  of  Dunlop. 
The  castle  or  mansion-house  of  Dunlop,  occupied  by  Mrs.  Frances 
Anna  Dunlop,  the  correspondent  of  Robert  Burns,  was  entirely  re- 
moved by  Sir  John  Dunlop  when,  in  1835,  he  began  the  erection,  on 
the  same  site,  of  the  present  magnificent  mansion  of  the  Tudor  order 
of  architecture.  The  old  residence  included  a  square  tower  of  un- 
known antiquity,  \nth  additions  built  at  various  periods,  one  of  the 
more  modern  portions  bearing  the  date  1599.  It  was  partially  for- 
tified in  the  spirit  of  ancient  times,  but  was  nevertheless  possessed 
of  great  accommodation  and  contained  several  elegant  apartments.   A 


xxiv  Introduction 


Francis,  the  father  of  Mrs.  Dunlop's  husband,  was  one 
of  the  Scottish  gentlemen  summoned  in  1707  to  wit- 
ness the  "  depositation  "  of  the  Scottish  regaha  in  Edin- 
burgh Castle.  He  seems  to  have,  in  1748,  resigned 
his  estate  to  his  son  John,  who  was  born  in  1707. 

Mrs.  Dunlop  appears  to  have  lived  happily  with 
her  elderly  husband.  In  1761  she  fell  heiress  on  her 
mother's  death  to  the  estate  of  Lochryan,  and  six- 
teen years  later,  on  the  death  of  her  father,  who  had 
married,  efi  secondes  noces,  Antonia  Dunlop,  a  sister  of 
his  son-in-law,  Craigie  also  would  have  become  her 
property,  if  it  had  not  previously  been  transferred  to 
her  eldest  son,  Thomas.  But  in  1784  her  son  was 
compelled  to  sell  Craigie,^  the  ancestral  but  deeply 

sketch  of  it,  made  in  1S30,  by  Mrs.  Dunlop's  granddaughter,  Frances 
Dunlop,  afterwards  the  wife  of  Alexander  E.  Monteith,  Esq.,  Sheriff 
of  Fifeshire,  has  been  preserved,  and,  by  the  courtesy  of  J.  A.  Gemmill, 
Esq.,  Ottawa,  Canada,  appears  in  this  work,  at  page  38,  vol.  i.  Dun- 
lop House  was  pleasantly  situated  in  the  centre  of  gently  undulating 
"policies,"  on  the  bank  of  a  little  rivulet  called  Clerkland  Burn,  a 
mile  from  the  village  of  Dunlop,  and  about  three  miles  from  Stewarton, 
which  was  the  post  town  in  Mrs.  Dunlop's  days,  and  where  Burns  paid 
occasional  visits  to  his  unfortunate  "  Uncle  Robert."  Mr.  Douglas 
completed  the  mansion  begun  by  Sir  John  Dunlop  who  died  in  1869, 
leaving  the  estate  in  life  rent  to  his  wife's  nephew,  Thomas  Dunlop 
Cuningham  Graham,  with  remainder  in  fee  to  his  grand-niece,  Ellen 
Douglas,  eldest  daughter  of  Robert  Hathorn  Johnston-Stewart  of 
Physgill  and  Glasserton,  Wigtonshire.  In  1873  she  mamed  James 
Francis,  eldest  son  of  Admiral  Right  Hon.  Sir  John  Dalrymple  Hay, 
Baronet,  K.C.B. ;  and  since  the  death  of  Cuningham  Graham  in  1884, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dalrymple  Hay  have  resided  at  Dunlop  House. 
1  Burns,  in  his  "  Vision,"  has  a  stanza  on  the  Wallaces :  — 

His  country's  saviour,  mark  him  well ! 
Bold  Riccartoun's  heroic  swell. 
And  he  who  fighting  glorious  fell 

In  high  command ; 
And  he  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 


Introduction  xxv 


encumbered  estate  of  the  Wallaces,  to  Mr.  William 
Campbell,  in  the  hands  of  whose  descendants  it  still 
remains.^  Her  husband  died  on  5th  June  1785, 
This  loss  was  followed  by  "  a  long  and  severe  illness, 
which  reduced  her  mind  to  the  most  distressing  state 
of  depression."  It  was  at  this  time  that  she  read 
•'  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  and  resolved  on 
making  the  acquaintance  of  its  author.  Thus  at  the 
time  the  Correspondence  opens  Mrs.  Dunlop  was 
suffering  an  accumulation  of  distresses.  She  re- 
Burns  himself  explains  that  the  references  in  the  first  four  lines  are 
to  Sir  William  Wallace,  his  cousin  Adam  Wallace  of  Richardton  or 
Riccarton,  and  Sir  John  Wallace  of  Craigie,  whose  gallantry  con- 
tributed most  materially  to  the  defeat  of  the  English  at  the  Battle  of 
Sark  in  1448.  He  gives  no  explanation  of  the  last  two  lines.  In  a 
paper  on  "  The  Wallaces  of  Elderslie,"  read  by  Dr.  J.  O.  Mitchell 
before  the  Glasgow  Archseological  Society  on  17th  March  1884,  they 
are  thus  referred  to  :  "  The  reference  undoubtedly  is  to  Sir  Thomas 
Dunlop  Wallace.  When  Burns  wrote  the  lines,  the  judicial  sale  of 
Craigie  was  recent,  and  the  unfortunate  heir  of  the  Wallaces,  stripped 
by  '  ruthless  fates '  of  the  last  of  the  old  acres,  had  abandoned  '  his  na- 
tive land'  and  retired  to  England."  This  view  is  no  doubt  quite  cor- 
rect. It  is  extremely  probable,  to  say  the  least,  that  Sir  Thomas  Dunlop 
Wallace  spent  some  time  in  England  before  settling  in  Edinburgh. 

1  "  The  old  ruinous  Castle  of  Craigie,"  as  Mrs.  Dunlop  pathetically 
terms  it  in  the  Correspondence,  which  was  the  home  of  the  Craigie 
Wallaces  from  1370  to  1588,  stands  on  a  gentle  eminence  and  within 
grounds  of  two  acres  in  extent,  about  four  miles  from  Kilmarnock. 
The  ruins  consist  of  two  gables,  ramparts  and  vaults  ;  a  stone  in  one 
of  the  walls  bears  the  armorial  escutcheon  of  the  families  of  Wallace 
and  Lindsay.  The  original  castle  must  have  been  a  strong  fortress, 
as  there  are  abundant  evidences  that,  besides  being  protected  by  the 
usual  tower  and  moat,  it  was  guarded  by  morasses  and  ditches  at 
every  quarter  whence  attack  could  come.  Newton  Castle,  situated 
in  Wallacetown,  a  suburb  of  Ayr,  and  separated  from  it  by  the  river, 
was  the  home  of  the  Wallaces  after  the  destruction  of  Craigie  Castle 
by  fire.  But  it  was  rendered  uninhabitable  by  a  storm  in  1701.  Sir 
Thomas  Wallace,  Mrs.  Dunlop's  father,  built  a  mansion  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Craigie  House.  This  was 
sold  with  the  estates  in  1783. 


xxvi      Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 


tained  Lochryan,  but  lived  at  Dunlop  House  with 
her  fourth  son,  Andrew,  "the  Major"  of  the  Letters, 
who  extended  his  hospitahty  also  to  most  of  his 
unmarried  sisters.  She  spent  a  good  deal  of  time 
during  the  years  with  which  we  have  to  deal  in  East 
Lothian  with  her  son  John  "the  Captain,"  first  at 
his  house  in  Haddington,  and  afterwards  at  his  farm 
of  Morham  Mains.  Then  when  her  daughter  Susan 
got  married  to  Mr.  Henri,  the  French  refugee,  and 
leased  Loudon  Castle  in  Ayrshire,  she  was  an  occa- 
sional guest  there,  and  was  once  nurse  to  a  whole 
sick  household.  She  moved  in  "the  best  set"  in 
the  county  of  Ayr,  and  had  connections,  shared  ap- 
parently by  her  son  Andrew,  with  some  of  the  most 
prosperous  merchants  in  Glasgow.  She  had  at  least 
one  bond  with  Edinburgh  in  her  step-mother  Lady 
Wallace,  who  had  a  house  there,  and  appears  to  have 
kept  Susan  Dunlop  as  a  companion  before  Henri 
appeared  on  the  scene.  Her  letters,  however,  afford 
few  glimpses  of  the  personages  or  social  activities  of 
the  time.  Though  she  had  not  passed  her  sixtieth 
year,  she  had  voluntarily  gone  into  semi-retirement  for 
reasons  already  noted,  to  which  has  in  all  likelihood  to 
be  added  her  estrangement  from  her  eldest  son.  She 
was  absorbed  in  her  family,  in  books,  and  in  Burns. 

Mrs. Dunlop  survived  Burns  nineteen  years,  dying  on 
24th  May  181 5.  According  to  one  of  her  biographers 
her  testament-dative  was  given  up  to  the  Commissary 
of  Glasgow  by  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Robert  Glasgow  of 
Mount-Greenan,  and  registered  loth  August  18 16,  her 
movable  estate  being  sworn  under  ;^8oo. 


Introduction  xxvii 


As  most  of  Mrs.  Dunlop's  children  are  mentioned 
in  her  Correspondence  with  Burns,  it  is  necessary  to 
give  some  account  of  them  here. 

John  and  Frances  Dunlop  had  seven  sons  and  six 
daughters.  Francis,  the  eldest  of  the  family,  born 
7th  August  1749,  died  in  infancy.  Thomas,  the 
second  son,  born  i8th  September  1750,  assumed  the 
name  of  Wallace  and  the  baronetcy  of  Craigie.  By  a 
family  arrangement  made  in  1774,  he  became  propri- 
etor of  Craigie,  but,  as  has  been  said,  it  had  to  be  sold 
nine  years  later.  Sir  Thomas  lived  in  Edinburgh  for 
the  most  part,  and  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  buck. 
Along  with  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  he  founded  in  1777 
the  Hunters'  Club,  which  was  the  nucleus  of  the  more 
celebrated  Caledonian  Hunt,  established  in  the  follow- 
ing year.  In  September  1772  he  married  Eglintoune, 
youngest  daughter  of  Sir  William  Maxwell,  Bart.,  of 
Monreith,  and  sister  of  the  more  famous  Jean,  Duchess 
of  Gordon.  (It  was  she  who,  according  to  an  Edin- 
burgh legend,  used  to  be  sent  from  Lady  Maxwell's 
town-house  to  fetch  water  for  tea  from  the  Fountain 
Well,  and  when  the  future  Duchess  of  Gordon  was 
caught  riding  a  sow  in  the  High  Street,  it  was  the 
future  Lady  Wallace  that  was  found  aiding  her  in 
her  escapade  by  thumping  the  animal  with  a  stick.) 
It  appears  from  the  Correspondence  that  she  and  her 
mother-in-law  did  not  pull  well  together,  that  indeed 
they  came  to  a  violent  breach.  Lady  Wallace  cut 
a  rather  notorious  figure  in  Scottish  society  in  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  As  Sir  William 
Fraser  puts  it,  she  indulged  a  literary  taste,  and  was 


xxviii     Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

noted  for  her  smart  and  humorous  sallies.  Another 
writer  says  she  had  "  more  wit  than  delicacy,"  which 
was  a  common  enough  twist  in  those  days,  and 
"  was  a  favourite  in  the  literary  circles  adorned  by 
Hume,  Adam  Smith,  and  John  Home."  She  wrote 
two  dramas.  The  Ton,  or  the  Follies  of  Fashion,  and 
The  Whim,  a  comedy  in  three  acts.  The  former  was 
acted  in  April  1788  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Covent 
Garden,  but  did  not  meet  with  approval,  and  an 
attempt  to  reintroduce  it  failed.  The  latter  was  dis- 
allowed by  the  Lord  Chancellor  on  account  of  certain 
political  allusions;  it  was  printed  at  Margate  in  1795. 
The  sole  surviving  son  of  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady 
Wallace  ^  was  John  Alexander  Agnew  Wallace.  He 
figures  as  "  Sandy  Wallace  "  in  the  Correspondence, 
and  was  a  favourite  of  Mrs.  t)unlop's,  though  she  had 
no  dealings  with  his  parents.  Born  in  1775,  he  en- 
tered the  army  in  1787,  and  is  said  to  have  taken 
part  in  three  general  engagements  before  he  was 
fifteen  years  of  age.  We  meet  him  in  the  Corre- 
spondence as  aide-de-camp  to  his  maternal  uncle, 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Maxwell,  who  had  a  command 
under  Cornwallis  in  the  campaigns  against  Tippoo 
Sultaun  of  Mysore.  He  afterwards  served  under  Sir 
Ralph  Abercromby  in  Egypt,  and  commanded  the 
88th  Regiment,  the  Connaught  Rangers,  in  the  Penin- 
sular War.  He  was  made  a  K.C.B.,  and  rose  to  the 
rank  of  General  in  185 1.  He  married  in  1829  Janet, 
daughter  of  Mr.  William  Rodger,   a   magistrate   of 

1  Sir  Thomas  Dunlop  Wallace  who,  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife, 
married  a  second  time  in  France,  died  in  1837. 


Introduction  xxix 


Glasgow.  By  her  he  liad  a  family  of  five  sons  and 
one  daughter.  He  succeeded  to  Lochryan  on  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Dunlop.  He  himself  died  in  1857. 
John  Alexander  Agnew  Wallace,  Esq.,  the  present 
proprietor  of  Lochryan,  is  his  grandson. 

Alexander,  the  third  of  Mrs.  Dunlop's  sons,  died 
young.  Andrew,  the  fourth,  "the  Major"  of  the 
Correspondence,  succeeded  to  the  estate  of  Dunlop 
in  accordance  with  a  disposition  executed  by  his 
father.  He  entered  the  army  and  served  in  the 
American  War.  At  the  time  of  the  Correspondence 
he  was  living,  presumably  on  half-pay,  at  Dunlop 
House  and  looking  after  his  estate.  He  raised  and 
commanded  the  Ayrshire  Fencible  Cavalry,  received 
the  rank  of  brigadier-general,  and  died  unmarried  in 
1804.  He  was  succeeded  in  Dunlop  by  his  brother 
James  (the  fifth  son),  who  also  adopted  the  military 
profession  and  saw  service  in  the  American  War. 
Sir  John  Moore,  as  the  Correspondence  shows,  was 
a  fellow-ofhcer  with  him  in  the  82nd  Regiment,  which 
was  raised  by  the  Duke  of  Hamilton.  In  1787  he 
himself  raised  men  for  a  company  of  the  77th  Regi- 
ment which  Sir  Robert  Abercromby  took  out  to 
India  in  the  following  year.  Like  his  nephew,  he 
appears  in  the  Correspondence  as  taking  part  in  the 
Mysore  Wars.  He  afterwards  commanded  a  brigade 
under  Wellington  in  the  Peninsula,  and  became  major- 
general  in  18 10.  He  retired  from  the  army  in  1812 
and  represented  the  Stewartry  of  Kirkcudbright  from 
18 1 3  to  18 16.  His  eldest  son  John  was  also  a  soldier 
and  a  politician.     He  served  in  the  Grenadier  Guards, 


XXX       Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

and  for  a  time  represented  the  county  of  Ayr  in 
Parliament.  In  1835  he  entirely  rebuilt  Dunlop 
House.  Five  years  later,  he  was  created  a  baronet. 
Dying  the  following  year,  he  was  succeeded  by  his 
son  Sir  James  Dunlop,  who  was  also  a  soldier  like  his 
father  and  grandfather,  and  took  part  in  the  Crimean 
War.  He  died  unmarried  in  1858,  and  the  Dunlop 
baronetcy  became  extinct. 

John,  the  sixth  son  of  Mrs.  Dunlop,  also  entered 
the  army,  but  retired  early  on  half-pay.  He  married 
his  cousin,  Frances  Magdalene  Dunlop,  by  whom  he 
had  a  family  of  seven  sons  and  four  daughters.  At 
the  opening  of  the  Correspondence  he  had  acquired 
from  the  Dalrymple  family  the  farm  of  Morham 
Mains  (now  Morham  Muir)  in  East  Lothian,  and 
having  bought  up  the  lease  of  the  sitting  tenant,  was 
building  a  new  house  on  the  farm  with  a  view  to  cul- 
tivating it  himself.  Mrs.  Dunlop  visited  "  the  Cap- 
tain "  first  at  Haddington,  where  he  lived  while  this 
house  was  building,  and  afterwards  at  Morham, 
whither  she  was  summoned  by  her  daughter-in-law 
at  her  many  confinements.  Gilbert  Burns  at  a  sub- 
sequent period  acted  as  the  "  manager  "  of  Captain 
Dunlop's  farm  for  a  few  years.  It  may  be  noted  in 
contradiction  to  one  of  the  numerous  loose  state- 
ments that  have  been  made  regarding  this  connection 
between  John  Dunlop  and  Gilbert  Burns  (such  as  that 
it  was  on  account  of  the  sale  of  Morham  that  Gilbert 
removed  to  Grant's  Braes  and  undertook  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Blantyre  Estate),  that  in  the  roll  of  free- 
holders of  the  county  of  Haddington    for   the  year 


Introduction  xxxi 


1804,  there  appears  the  name  of  "John  Dunlop  of 
Morham  for  the  lands  of  Morham  Mains  and  two 
fields  called  Ploughfields." 

Of  Anthony,  the  seventh  son,  Burns,  in  a  letter  to 
Mrs.  Dunlop  dated  loth  April  1790,  writes  that  he 
was  possessed  of  "a  purity,  a  tenderness,  a  dignity, 
an  elegance  of  soul  which  are  of  no  use,  only  abso- 
lutely disqualifying  for  the  truly  important  business 
of  making  a  man's  way  into  life."  In  all  accounts  of 
the  Dunlop  family,  Anthony  figures  as  an  officer  in 
the  Navy.  The  references  to  him  in  the  Correspond- 
ence indicate  that  the  earlier  portion  of  his  life,  at  all 
events,  was  spent  in  the  merchant  service,  and  it  is 
improbable  that  he  ever  entered  the  Navy.  In  1803 
he  married  Ann  Cunningham,  daughter  of  the  Col- 
lector of  Customs  in  Irvine.  After  a  time  he  settled 
in  the  Isle  of  Man  as  a  tenant  farmer,  and  ultimately 
bought  a  small  estate,  to  which,  in  honour  of  his 
family,  he  gave  the  name  of  Ellerslie.  Late  in  life, 
however,  he  found  himself  hopelessly  in  debt  and 
embarrassed  by  litigation.  On  the  morning  of  29th 
June  1828,  he  committed  suicide  in  an  Edinburgh 
hotel.i 

1  The  sad  story  of  Anthony  Dunlop  was  fully  told  for  the  first 
time  by  the  Rev.  Richard  Simpson,  Dunscore,  Dumfriesshire,  in  an 
article  on  "  Ellerslie  in  Man  "  which  he  contributed  to  the  Glasgow 
Herald  of  October  i6,  1897.  Mr.  Simpson's  narrative  is  based  on 
unpublished  notes  written  by  Mr.  James  Grierson  of  Dalgoner,  a 
Dumfriesshire  antiquary  and  intimate  friend  of  Anthony  Dunlop. 
One  of  his  notes  runs  thus:  "Anthony  Dunlop  went  to  sea  in  his 
thirteenth  year,  1787,  and  saw  various  service  in  the  East  Indies  and 
had  not  been  very  fortunate."  This  confirms  the  impression  created 
by  the  Correspondence. 


xxxii      Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 

Of  Mrs.  Dunlop's  six  daughters,  Agnes  Eleanor, 
the  eldest,  married  Joseph  Elias  Perochon,  a  French 
royalist  whom  the  Revolution  drove  to  London. 
There  he  flourished  for  a  time  as  a  merchant,  but, 
his  eyesight  failing,  he  retired  from  business  and 
settled  at  Castlebank,  Dumfries.  Mrs.  Perochon 
showed  great  kindness  to  Burns's  widow.  Out  ^of 
gratitude  Jean  gave  her  for  sepulture  the  spot  in  St. 
Michael's  Churchyard  where  Burns  was  first  buried. 
There  Mrs.  Perochon,  who  died  on  loth  October 
1825,  lies  buried.  Susan,  the  second  daughter,  mar- 
ried in  1789  James  Henri  of  Bernaldean,  also  a  refu- 
gee, and  a  landed  proprietor  in  France.  He  rented 
Loudoun  Castle  and  resided  there  till  his  death  on 
22nd  June  1790.  Mrs.  Henri  gave  birth  to  a  child 
on  15th  November  of  the  same  year.  This  "  sweet 
flow'ret,  pledge  o'  meikle  love "  succeeded  to  his 
father's  estate  in  France.  The  third  daughter  Mar- 
garet died  in  infancy.  Frances,  the  fourth  daughter, 
married  in  1777  a  Wigtownshire  proprietor,  Robert 
Vans  Agnew  of  Sheuchan  and  Barnbarroch.  The 
present  owner  of  these  estates  and  representative  of 
this  branch  of  Mrs.  Dunlop's  descendants  is  Captain 
John  Vans  Agnew,  of  the  Indian  Staff  Corps.  Rachel, 
the  fifth,  married  Robert  Glasgow  of  Mount-Greenan, 
and,  through  an  only  daughter,  is  represented  at  the 
present  day  by  the  Robertson-Glasgows  of  Mount- 
Greenan.  Keith,  the  youngest,  Burns's  "  blooming 
Keith,"  died  unmarried  in  1858. 


Chronology  of  Letters 


Volume  One 

B.  —  letters  from  Burns  to  Mrs.  Dunlop.  D.  — letters  from  Mrs.  Dimlop 
to  Burns.  *  letters  entirely  new.  f  letters  partly  new.  — date  unascer- 
tained.     letters  missing. 


B. 

1786. 

Nov.  i5t. 

1787. 
Jan.  15. 
March  22f . 

April  15. 
„     30- 


D. 


Dec.  30. 

Jan.  9. 

Feb.  26. 

March  29. 
April  14. 

„      29. 


May  21. 
July  30  or  31*.  July  30. 

Sep.  9. 

Nov.  15. 
Nov.  17  (?). 

Dec.  25. 


1788. 
Jan.  21. 


Jan.  — . 


B. 


1788. 

Jan.  —  *. 

Feb.  i2t. 

Feb.  30. 

March  7. 

March  14 

„     26*. 

)?          • 

„     31*- 

April  16. 

April  28. 

May  4. 

"    27,  29t. 
June  13(14). 

July  10. 
Aug.  2. 

„     16. 

„     21*. 


May—. 
June  4. 


„      16,  17. 
„      24. 


July  22. 
Aug.  9. 


xxxni 


xxxiv     Burns-Dunlop  Correspondence 


B. 

D. 

B. 

D. 

1788. 

1789. 

Feb.  23*. 
March  4. 

Sep.   12. 

Sep.  27. 

Oct.  I. 

March  18. 

„     9- 
21. 

25* 

April  I. 

Oct.  23,  26*. 
„    29*. 

Nov.  5. 
„    13- 

April  3*. 
„     21*. 

April  23,  May  3. 

Nov.  13. 

May  4. 

»    24. 
Dec.  3. 

June  2it. 

May  20. 
Tune  27. 

Dec.  17. 

J                     ' 

„     24. 

July  7,  8*. 

June  27,  July  13 

1789. 

„      17*- 

Jan.  I. 

Jan.  I. 

Aug.  I. 

* 

Aug.  19*. 

„     22. 

„      20,  24. 

Feb.  5*. 

„     24. 

Sep.  6. 

Sep.  6. 

Feb.  10,  17. 

„     20. 

Correspondence 


BETWEEN 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop 

"  Of  all  the  friendships,"  says  Gilbert  Burns,  "  which 
Robert  acquired  in  Ayrshire  and  elsewhere,  none 
seemed  more  agreeable  to  him  than  that  of  Mrs. 
Dunlop  of  Dunlop,  nor  any  which  has  been  more 
uniformly  and  constantly  exerted  in  behalf  of  him 
and  his  family,  of  which,  were  it  proper,  I  could  give 
many  instances.  Robert  was  on  the  point  of  setting 
out  for  Edinburgh  before  Mrs.  Dunlop  had  heard  of 
him.  About  the  time  of  my  brother's  publishing  in 
Kilmarnock,  she  had  been  afflicted  with  a  long  and 
severe  illness,  which  had  reduced  her  mind  to  the 
most  distressing  state  of  depression.  In  this  situa- 
tion, a  copy  of  the  printed  Poems  was  laid  on  her 
table  by  a  friend,  and  happening  to  open  on  '  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night,'  she  read  it  over  with  the 
greatest  pleasure  and  surprise ;  the  poet's  description 
of  the  simple  cottagers  operating  on  her  mind  hke 
the  charm  of  a  powerful  exorcist,  expelling  the  de- 
mon ennui,  and  restoring  her  to  her  wonted  inward 
harmony  and  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Dunlop  sent  off  a 
person  express  to  Mossgiel,  distant  fifteen  or  sixteen 


VOL.   I.  —  I 


Correspondence  between 


miles,  with  a  very  obliging  letter  to  my  brother,  de- 
siring him  to  send  her  half  a  dozen  copies  of  his 
Poems,  if  he  had  them  to  spare,  and  begging  he 
would  do  her  the  pleasure  of  calling  at  Dunlop 
House  as  soon  as  convenient.  This  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  correspondence  which  ended  only  with  the 
poet's  life.  (Nearly)  the  last  use  he  made  of  his  pen 
was  writing  a  short  letter  to  this  lady  a  few  days 
before  his  death." 

The  following  letter,  of  which  the  last  paragraph  is 
now  printed  for  the  first  time  from  the  poet's  manu- 
script, is  unquestionably  the  earliest  of  Burns  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop,  written  in  reply  to  the  "  express"  mentioned 
by  Gilbert.  The  exact  date,  the  15th  of  November, 
is  also  now  fixed  for  the  first  time,  and  throws  back 
for  a  day  or  two  the  precise  period  of  the  poet's 
resolution  to  go  to  Edinburgh.  (See  Chambers,  1896 
edition,  vol.  i.  p.  444.) 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  at  Dunlop  House. 
(With  a  parcel.) 

Madam,  —  I  am  truly  sorry  I  was  not  at  home  yesterday 
when  I  was  so  much  honored  with  your  order  for  my  copies, 
and  incomparably  more  so  by  the  handsome  compliments 
you  are  pleased  to  pay  my  poetic  abilities.  I  am  fully  per- 
suaded that  there  is  not  any  class  of  mankind  so  feelingly 
alive  to  the  titillations  of  applause  as  the  Sons  of  Parnassus  ; 
nor  is  it  easy  to  conceive  how  the  heart  of  the  poor  Bard 
dances  with  rapture  when  those,  whose  character  in  life 
gives  them  a  right  to  be  polite  judges,  honor  him  with  their 
approbation. 


^^aat '  /^/(^  uri\^  -^^  ii^y^  ocoaA —  . 


THE    FIRST    LEITER    BL'RXS    WROTE    TO    MRS.   UCXLOP. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop  3 

Had  you  been  thoroughly  acquainted  with  me,  Madam, 
you  could  not  have  touched  my  darling  heart-chord  more 
sweetly,  than  by  noticing  my  attempts  to  celebrate  your 
illustrious  ancestor,  the  Saviour  of  his  Country  — 

Great  patriot  hero  !  ill-requited  Chief ! 

The  first  books  I  met  with  in  my  early  years,  which  I 
perused  with  pleasure,  were  the  Lives  of  Hannibal,  and  Sir 
William  Wallace.  For  several  of  my  earlier  years,  I  had 
few  other  authors;  and  many  a  solitary  hour  have  I  stole 
out,  after  the  laborious  vocations  of  the  day,  to  shed  a  tear 
over  their  glorious,  but  unfortunate  story.  In  those  boyish 
days,  I  remember  in  particular,  being  much  struck  with  that 
part  of  Wallace's  history  where  these  Hues  occur  — 

Syne  to  the  Leglen  wood  ^  when  it  was  late 
To  make  a  silent  and  a  safe  retreat. 

I  chose  a  fine  summer  Sunday,  the  only  day  of  the  week  in 
my  power,  and  walked  half  a  dozen  miles  to  pay  my 
respects  to  the  "  Leglen  wood  "  with  as  much  devout  en- 
thusiasm as  ever  Pilgrim  did  to  Loretto ;  and  as  I  explored 
every  den  and  dell  where  I  could  suppose  my  heroic 
Countryman  to  have  sheltered,  I  recollect  (for  even  then 
I  was  a  Rhymer)  that  my  heart  glowed  with  a  wish  to  be 
able  to  make  a  song  on  him  equal  to  his  merits. 

I  have  only  been  able  to  find  you  five  copies  :  they  are 
all  I  can  command.  I  am  thinking  to  go  to  Edinburgh  in 
a  week  or  two  at  farthest,  to  throw  off  a  second  Impression 
of  my  book ;  but  on  my  return,  I  shall  certainly  do  myself 
the  honor  to  wait  on  you,  and  thank  you  in  person  for  the 
oblidging  notice  you  have  been  pleased  to  take  of.  Madam, 
your  much  indebted  and  very  humble  servt. 

Robert  Burns. 
MossGiEL,  15M  Nov.  1786. 


Correspondence  between 


(i)  Leglen  Wood  is  on  the  banks  of  the  Ayr,  near 
Auchencruive.  It  was  from  Mount  Ohphant  that 
Burns  as  a  boy  had  walked  to  Leglen  Wood. 

Burns  did  not  visit  Dunlop  at  this  time.  He  set 
out  for  Edinburgh  on  the  27th  of  November.  On  the 
14th  December  Creech  advertised  the  new  edition, 
and  Burns  straightway  sent  copies  of  the  subscription- 
sheet  to  his  friends. 

Here  occurs  the  first  break  in  the  correspondence. 
Mrs.  Dunlop  must  have  replied  to  Burns's  letter 
of  the  15th;  his  answer,  received  by  her  on  the 
30th,  must  have  been  written  on  the  22nd  or  23rd 
December,  having  been,  as  she  says,  a  week  on  the 
road.  Neither  of  those  letters,  so  far  as  is  known, 
is  extant. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  care  of  Mr.  Creech, 
Bookseller,  Cross,  Edr. 

Dunlop,  jitk  Dec.  1786. 

Sir,  —  I  have  only  this  moment  yours,  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  inclosed  from  Dr.  Moore, ^  now  of  London,  to 
whom  I  had  sent  a  copy  of  your  Poems  as  the  most  accept- 
able present  I  could  make  to  that  person  whose  taste  I 
valued  most  and  from  whose  friendship  I  have  reaped  most 
instruction  as  well  as  infinite  pleasure.  His  literary  knowl- 
edge, his  fame  as  an  author,  his  activity  in  befriending  that 
merit  of  which  his  own  mind  is  formed  to  feel  the  full  force  — 
all  led  me  to  believe  I  could  not  do  so  kind  a  thing  to  Mr. 
Burns  as  by  introducing  him  to  Mr.  Moore,  whose  keen 
passions  must  at  once  admire  the  poet,  esteem  the  moral- 
ist, and  wish  to  be  usefuU  to  the  author. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop  5 

I  am  perfectly  sensible  't  is  not  fair  to  shew  a  private 
letter  from  a  friend,  nor  ought  I  perhaps  to  have  done  it 
now  had  I  been  able  with  any  propriety  otherwise  to  con- 
vey the  ideas  it  contains,  and  with  which  I  really  wished 
you  acquainted.  The  lady  he  mentions,  Miss  Williams, 
has  a  very  general  acquaintance,  and  has  been,  I  believe, 
obliged  to  Mr.  Moore's  introduction  for  part  of  the  patron- 
age she  has  met  among  the  first  people  in  Britain;  even 
her  praise  will  add  ornament  to  merit  far  superiour  to 
her  own. 

In  the  sequestered  situation  where  I  am  placed,  whatever 
my  inclination,  I  am  far  distant  from  the  power  of  being 
usefuU  to  any  one,  so  that  I  fear  the  half  sheet  you  do  me 
the  honour  to  send  me  is  but  so  much  lost;  however  I 
shall  try. 

Meanwhile  I  would  be  glad  to  know  whether  you  write 
the  Dr.,  or  call,  as  he  desires,  upon  his  son,  Major  John 
Moore,2  now  at  the  Palace  of  Hamilton ;  also  that  you 
would  favour  me  with  a  copy  of  the  song  you  celebrate  so 
much  in  your  book,  where  I  would  fain  object  to  one  word 
which  I  am  glad  to  discover  is  not  your  own.  I  can  wish 
you  to  catch  no  one  thing  from  Thomson,  unless  it  were 
the  resolution  with  which  he  plucked  up  every  one  of  those 
luxuriant  weeds  that  will  be  rising  in  too  rich  a  soil,  and 
from  which  I  would  be  glad  to  see  you  wholly  exempt.  But 
the  word  I  allude  to  is  vnhappy?  When  applied  to  Wal- 
lace it  seems  to  me  unsuited  to  the  patriot  Hero  or  the 
patriot  Bard,  and  I  flatter  myself  you  feel  it  so.  You  will 
tell  me  "  unhappy  "  only  means  "  unsuccessful,"  but  I  con- 
fess myself  hurt  by  the  least  dubiety  of  expression  in  one 
whose  own  ideas  are  clear  and  determinate,  and  whose 
language  is  so  singularly  nervous  and  beautiful.     Besides, 


Correspondence  between 


at  a  time  when  every  inducement  seems  too  weak  to  sup- 
port public  virtue,  it  might  not  be  amiss  to  impress  an  idea 
upon  our  countrymen  of  the  immediate  advantage  resulting 
from  it  — 

Sure  He  who  deigns  to  guide,  inspire  and  guard 
The  patriot  Hero  and  the  patriot  Bard 
Makes  heartfelt  happiness  their  first  reward. 

Coila  tells  you  this  of  the  second,  and  I  dare  venture  to 
believe  it  of  the  first.  If  it  is  an  error,  't  is  one  I  should 
wish  all  my  sons  to  cherish,  as  I  'm  afraid  Heaven  is  a  dis- 
tant prospect  for  short-sighted  mortals,  who  need  a  nearer 
goal  to  animate  them  in  an  unfashionable  race,  and  a  poem 
may  light  as  many  to  it  as  a  preaching. 

Charm'd  with  the  beauties  of  a  matchless  line, 
I  deem  the  spirit  equally  divine 
That  leads  to  virtue  by  celestial  lays, 
Or  by  immortal  valour  merits  praise. 

Though  much  I  fear 

Where  Indian  gold  and  English  manners  reign, 
Wallace  might  fight  and  Burns  may  write  in  vain. 

I  address  this  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Creech,  to  whom  I  shall 
return  the  names  and  number  of  copies  wanted  by  me  or 
my  friends,  so  you  need  not  attend  to  any  former  letter  any 
of  my  family  has  wrote  about  them.  You  had  better  send 
Mr.  Moore  the  proposal  by  the  direction  he  gives,  which 
will  save  postage,  his  son  being  a  member  of  Parliament. 
I  got  the  books  you  sent  me  and  the  letter,  for  which  re- 
ceive my  thanks,  and  my  money  shall  be  payable  on  sight. 
But  pray  tell  me,  did  you  write  nothing  in  the  Leglen  Wood 
that  I  may  be  favoured  with  a  sight  of  when  you  come  west  ? 
Or  when  will  that  be  ?     If  you  drop  me  a  line,  direct  it  for 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop  7 

"Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop,  by  Stewarton."  Yours  was  a 
week  on  the  way  from  being  sent  to  Ayr.  I  hope  that  will 
create  no  risque  of  my  being  too  late  of  returning  my  re- 
port to  Mr.  Creech.  I  should  much  regret  disappointing 
those  friends  who  have  trusted  to  my  securing  them  so 
great  a  pleasure.  I  am  truly  sorry  I  did  not  see  you  be- 
fore you  went  to  town,  where  I  dread  will  be  lost  the  Rural 
Bard  produced  in  Ayrshire.  You  say  no  body  is  so  sensible 
to  praise  as  the  Sons  of  Parnassus.  If  so,  I  fear  you  have 
got  too  strong  a  doze  of  it  even  for  the  most  callous  con- 
stitution, and  all  mankind  are  unco  [pretty]  weak  and 
little  to  be  trusted  when  all  around  are  conspiring  to  spoil 
them  and  blow  up  their  vanity  —  a  passion  which,  while  it 
debases  the  man,  can  never  exalt  the  Poet,  in  whom  the 
world  are  still  more  interested.  You  see  you  were  not 
mistaken  in  thinking  I  really  wished  to  serve  the  Rustic 
Bard,  and  to  preserve  him  an  honour  to  my  countr)\  —  I 
am.  Sir,  your  most  humble  ser\'t.  Fran,  Dunlop. 

(i)  Dr.  John  Moore,  whose  connection  with  Burns 
is  well  known.  He  was  of  the  family  of  Mure  of 
Rowallan;  studied  at  Glasgow  and  Paris,  served  as 
a  surgeon  in  the  army,  and  practised  in  Glasgow. 
From  1772  to  1778  he  travelled  on  the  Continent 
with  Douglas,  eighth  Duke  of  Hamilton,  and  was  now 
settled  in  London  cultivating  letters.  He  wrote 
ZeliicOy  a  novel ;  A  View  of  Society  and  Manners  in 
France ;  Edward,  a  novel,  etc. 

(2)  Dr.  Moore's  more  famous  son  (his  eldest), 
afterwards  Sir  John,  the  hero  of  Corunna.  He 
travelled  on  the  Continent  with  his  father  and  the 
young  Duke  of  Hamilton,  entered  the  army  in  1776, 


8  Correspondence  between 

and  when  his  friend  the  Duke  raised  the  82nd  Regi- 
ment in  1778,  he  was  made  a  captain-Heutenant  in  it. 
At  this  date  he  was  on  half-pay  and  a  member  of 
Parhament,  having  been  returned  in  1784  through 
the  Hamilton  interest  for  the  Linlithgow,  Selkirk, 
Lanark,  and  Peebles  group  of  burghs.  When  Mrs. 
Dunlop  wrote  he  was  apparently  on  a  visit  to  the 
Duke  at  Hamilton. 

(3)  The  second  line  of  "  The  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night  "  read  in  the  first  edition  — 

That  stream'd  thro'  great,  unhappy  Wallace  heart. 

Burns  defended  the  "  improper  epithet ;  "  see  infra 
his  letter  of  the  15th  January,  and  it  was  only  in  the 
1793  edition  that  he  altered  the  text  to  "Wallace's 

undaunted  heart." 

Postmark  Jan.  1 5. 
Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  care  of  Mr.  Creech, 

Cross,  Edr. 

Dunlop,  gthjan.  1787. 

Sir,  —  I  inclose  your  printing  proposals.  I  am  sorry  a 
misfortune  in  my  own  family  has  prevented  my  attending  to 
your  interest  as  I  think  so  much  poetick  merit  deserves. 
I  have  always  found  the  book  only  needed  to  be  seen  to 
be  admired  and  subscribed  for,  but  a  sister's  *  death  pre- 
vented my  shewing  it  but  to  a  very  few  of  my  friends.  I 
know  a  gentleman  in  the  East  Indies,  commanding  the 
artillery  at  Patna.  Could  you  find  a  way  while  you  are  in 
town  to  get  a  copy  sent  out  to  him,  I  know  he  has  taste  to 
relish  its  beauties,  and  at  my  desire  would  be  active  to  dis- 
play them  in  the  Eastern  world  in  case  you  should  print  a 
future  edition.  Perhaps  you  too  know  him;  'tis  Captain 
Woodburn,  born  at  Adamton  Mill,  by  Ayr. 


^;>^ -^ ''^;'-  '^c/-^  ^;,^     Q;^^, .  \//^/r^, 

iNiRS.   DUN  LOP    TO    liURNS,  9''''  JAXT     I  78  7. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop  9 

I  hope  you  have  wrote  Mr.  Moore.  I  again  send  you  his 
letter  to  let  you  know  how  much  he  is  in  earnest  your 
admirer,  and  I  never  knew  any  man  so  keen  to  serve  those 
he  takes  a  fancy  to,  and  very  few  have  so  much  in  their 
power.  But  what  will  perhaps  tempt  you  more  than  self- 
respecting  views,  he  is  one  of  the  cleverest  men  in  Britain, 
and  owes  more  to  nature  than  to  his  acquaintance  with 
half  the  courts  in  Europe  ;  so  that  few  would  reject  his 
proffered  correspondence.  Meantime  be  so  good  as  keep 
these  letters  of  his  till  I  see  you,  and  don't  mention  them, 
as  it  would  be  disobliging  both  Lord  Eglinton  ^  and  him, 
and  thereby  hurting  yourself  as  well  as  me  for  shewing 
them.  But  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  you  don't  know  what 
is  said  of  you  —  I  mean  of  your  writings.  I  heard  some 
lines  repeated  last  day ;  I  scrawled  them  over,  believing 
them  addressed  to  you,  and  put  them  as  a  wrapper  round 
the  inclosed  subscription,  which  I  send  you  for  Mr.  Creech. 
But  be  so  good  as  pull  off  the  cover  before  you  deliver  it. 
I  daresay  you  would  be  shocked  at  an  expression  of  the 
Doctor's,  where  he  says  he  had  taught  many  to  admire 
your  Poems,  but  he  only  means  having,  as  a  Scotsman, 
taught  the  English  to  read  them,  which  I  wish  for  the  sake 
of  your  fame  had  been  rendered  less  necessary  by  an 
enlarged  glossary ;  that  part  is  really  defective.  I  find  you 
are  too  busy  to  answer  my  questions,  but  no  matter ;  I  am 
glad  of  it,  as  I  hope  you  are  better  employed  every  day 
doing  honour  to  our  country.  Do  you  reprint  the  word  I 
dislike?  It  will  make  me  very  happy  that  you  forget  it 
while  next  edition  is  in  the  press.  —  Adieu  ! 

Fran.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Sister-in-law's.     Mrs.  Dunlop  had  no  sister. 


lo  Correspondence  between 

(2)  Dr.  Moore  introduced  the  Kilmarnock  edition 
to  the  notice  of  Archibald,  eleventh  Earl  of  Eglinton 
(1726-96).  Probably  this  second  letter  of  Dr. 
Moore's  which  Mrs.  Dunlop  forwarded  to  Burns  was 
a  copy  of  the  doctor's  letter  to  the  Earl. 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Edinburgh,  \t^th  January  1787. 

Madam,  —  Yours  of  the  9th  current,  which  I  am  this 
moment  honor'd  with,  is  a  deep  reproach  to  me  for  un- 
grateful neglect.  I  will  tell  you  the  real  truth,  for  I  am 
miserably  awkward  at  a  fib.  I  wished  to  have  written  to 
Dr.  Moore  ^  before  I  wrote  to  you ;  but  though  every  day 
since  I  received  yours  of  Dec.  30th,  the  idea,  the  wish  to 
write  to  him,  has  constantly  pressed  on  my  thoughts,  yet  I 
could  not  for  my  soul  set  about  it.  I  know  his  fame  and 
character,  and  I  am  one  of  "the  sons  of  little  men."  To 
write  him  a  mere  matter-of-fact  affair,  like  a  merchant's 
order,  would  be  disgracing  the  little  character  I  have ;  and 
to  write  the  author  of  The  View  of  Society  and  Manners 
a  letter  of  sentiment  —  I  declare  every  artery  runs  cold  at 
the  thought.  I  shall  try,  however,  to  write  to  him  to- 
morrow or  next  day.  His  kind  interposition  in  my  behalf 
I  have  already  experienced,  as  a  gentleman  waited  on  me 
the  other  day,  on  the  part  of  Lord  Eglinton,  with  ten 
guineas  by  way  of  subscription  for  two  copies  of  my  next 
edition. 

The  word  you  object  to  in  the  mention  I  have  made  of 
my  glorious  countryman  and  your  immortal  ancestor,  is 
indeed  borrowed  from  Thomson  ;  but  it  does  not  strike  me 
as  an  improper  epithet.  I  distrusted  my  own  judgment  on 
your  finding  fault  with  it,  and  applied  for  the  opinion  of 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        1 1 

some  of  the  literati  here,  who  honor  me  with  their  critical 
strictures,  and  they  all  allow  it  to  be  proper.  The  song  you 
ask  I  cannot  recollect,  and  I  have  not  a  copy  of  it.  I  have 
not  composed  any  thing  on  the  great  Wallace,  except  what 
you  have  seen  in  print,  and  the  inclosed,  which  I  will  print 
in  this  edition.  You  will  see  I  have  mentioned  some  others 
of  the  name.  When  I  composed  my  "  Vision  "  long  ago,  I 
had  attempted  a  description  of  Kyle,^  of  which  the  addi- 
tional stanzas  are  a  part,  as  it  originally  stood.  My  heart 
glows  with  a  wish  to  be  able  to  do  justice  to  the  merits  of 
the  "  Saviour  of  his  Country,"  which  sooner  or  later  I  shall 
at  least  attempt. 

You  are  afraid  I  shall  grow  intoxicated  with  my  pros- 
perity as  a  poet :  alas  !  Madam,  I  know  myself  and  the 
world  too  well.  I  do  not  mean  any  airs  of  affected 
modesty ;  I  am  willing  to  believe  that  my  abilities  deserve 
some  notice ;  but  in  a  most  enlightened,  informed  age  and 
nation,  when  poetry  is  and  has  been  the  study  of  men  of 
the  first  natural  genius,  aided  with  all  the  powers  of  polite 
learning,  polite  books,  and  polite  company  —  to  be  dragged 
forth  to  the  full  glare  of  learned  and  polite  observation,  with 
all  my  imperfections  of  awkward  rusticity,  and  crude,  un- 
polished ideas  on  my  head  —  I  assure  you,  Madam,  I  do  not 
dissemble  when  I  tell  you  I  tremble  for  the  consequences. 
The  novelty  of  a  poet  in  my  obscure  situation,  without  any 
of  those  advantages  which  are  reckoned  necessary  for  that 
character,  at  least  at  this  time  of  day,  has  raised  a  partial 
tide  of  public  notice  which  has  borne  me  to  a  height  where 
I  am  absolutely,  feelingly  certain,  my  abilities  are  inadequate 
to  support  me ;  and  too  surely  do  I  see  that  time  when  the 
same  tide  will  leave  me,  and  recede  perhaps  as  far  below 
the  mark  of  truth.     I  do  not  say  this   in  the  ridiculous 


12  Correspondence  between 

affectation  of  self-abasement  and  modesty.  1  have  studied 
myself,  and  know  what  ground  I  occupy ;  and,  however  a 
friend  or  the  world  may  differ  from  me  in  that  particular,  I 
stand  for  my  own  opinion,  in  silent  resolve,  with  all  the 
tenaciousness  of  property.  I  mention  this  to  you,  once  for 
all,  to  disburthen  my  mind,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  or 
say  more  about  it.     But 

When  proud  fortune's  ebbing  tide  recedes, 

you  will  bear  me  witness,  that  when  my  bubble  of  fame 
was  at  the  highest,  I  stood  unintoxicated  with  the  inebriat- 
ing cup  in  my  hand,  looking  forward  with  rueful  resolve  to 
the  time,  when  the  blow  of  Cahimny  should  dash  it  to  the 
ground,  with  all  the  eagerness  of  vengeful  triumph.  .  .  . 

Your  patronising  me  and  interesting  yourself  in  my  fame 
and  character  as  a  poet,  I  rejoice  in ;  it  exalts  me  in  my 
own  idea ;  and  whether  you  can  or  cannot  aid  me  in  my 
subscription  is  a  trifle.  Has  a  paltry  subscription-bill  any 
charms  to  the  heart  of  a  bard,  compared  with  the  pat- 
ronage of  the  descendant  of  the  immortal  Wallace? 

R.  B. 

(i)  He  did  write  on  the  17th, 

(2)  The  district  of  Ayrshire  which  embraces  Ayr, 
Mossgiel,  Lochlea,  etc. 

The  enclosure  mentioned  in  the  preceding  letter 
was  the  followincf  stanzas  from  the  "Vision":  — 


'fc> 


By  stately  tow'r,  or  palace  fair, 

Or  ruins  pendent  in  the  air, 

Bold  stems  of  heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern  ; 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  some  seem'd  to  dare, 

With  features  stern. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        i  3 


My  heart  did  glowing  transport  feel, 

To  see  a  race  heroic  ^  wheel, 

And  brandish  round  the  deep-dyed  steel, 

In  sturdy  blows ; 
While,  back-recoiling,  seeni'd  to  reel 

Their  suthron  foes. 

His  Countr}''s  Saviour,-  mark  him  well ! 
Bold  Richardton's  ^  heroic  swell ; 
The  chief,  on  Sark  *  who  glorious  fell 

In  high  command  ; 
And  he  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 

There,  where  a  sceptr'd  Pictish  shade 
Stalk'd  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid,^ 
I  mark'd  a  martial  race,  pourtray'd 

In  colours  strong  : 
Bold,  soldier-featur'd,  undismay'd, 

They  strode  along.^ 

Thro'  many  a  wild,  romantic  grove,'^ 
Near  many  a  hermit-fancied  cove 
(Fit  haunts  for  friendship  or  for  love. 

In  musing  mood), 
An  aged  Judge,  I  saw  him  rove. 

Dispensing  good. 

With  deep-struck,  reverential  awe. 
The  learned  Sire  and  Son  I  saw :  ^ 
To  Nature's  God,  and  Nature's  law 

They  gave  their  lore; 
This,  all  its  source  and  end  to  draw. 

That,  to  adore. 

Brydon's  brave  ward  ^  I  well  could  spy, 
Beneath  Old  Scotia's  smiling  eye  ; 
Who  call'd  on  Fame,  low  standing  by, 

To  hand  him  on. 
Where  many  a  patriot-name  on  high 

And  hero  shone. 


14  Correspondence  between 

(i)   The  Wallaces.  —  ^. 

(2)  William  Wallace.  — i9. 

(3)  Adam  Wallace  of  Richardton  (Riccarton),  cousin  to  the  im- 
mortal preserver  of  Scottish  independence.  —  B.  This  Wallace,  and 
not  the  great  Sir  William,  was  Mrs.  Dunlop's  ancestor, 

(4)  Wallace,  Laird  of  Craigie,  who  was  second  in  command,  under 
Douglas,  Earl  of  Ormond,  at  the  famous  battle  on  the  banks  of  Sark, 
fought  in  1448.  The  glorious  victory  was  principally  owing  to  the 
judicious  conduct  and  intrepid  valour  of  the  gallant  Laird  of  Craigie, 
who  died  of  his  wounds  after  the  action.  —  B. 

(5)  Coilus,  King  of  the  Picts,  from  whom  the  district  of  Kyle  is 
said  to  take  its  name,  lies  buried,  as  tradition  says,  near  the  family 
seat  of  the  Montgomeries  of  Coilsfield,  where  his  burial  place  is 
still  shown.  —  B.  The  mound,  marked  by  a  few  trees,  was  opened 
on  29th  May  1837,  and  two  sepulchral  urns  were  found. 

(6)  The  Montgomeries  of  Coilsfield.  The  younger  sons  of  the 
family  were  in  the  army.  —  B. 

{7)  Barskimming,  the  seat  of  the  Lord  Justice-Clerk.  —  B.  Sir 
Thomas  Miller  of  Glenlee,  who  became  Lord  President  of  the  Court 
of  Session  in  1788,  and  died  in  the  following  year. 

(8)  Catrine,  the  seat  of  the  late  Doctor  and  present  Professor 
Stewart. —  i9.  Dr.  Matthew  Stewart  (1717-85)  was  Professor  of 
Mathematics  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  His  son  Dugald 
(1753-1828)  succeeded  his  father  in  the  Chair  of  Mathematics  in 
1775,  and  exchanged  it  ten  years  later  for  that  of  Moral  Philosophy. 

(9)  Colonel  FuUarton.  —  B.  Colonel  William  Fullarton  of  Fullar- 
ton  in  Ayrshire;  born  1754;  educated  at  Edinburgh;  travelled 
under  the  care  of  Patrick  Brydone  (1741-1818),  author  of  A  Tour  in 
Sicily  and  Malta.  Fullarton  entered  the  army,  raised  Fullarton's 
Light  Horse,  sat  in  Parliament  for  Ayrshire  from  1796  to  1803,  and 
was  subsequently  Governor  of  Trinidad.  He  wrote  an  Account  of 
Agriculture  in  Ayrshire  and  a  Viczv  of  English  Interests  in  India. 

Mrs.  Dunlop  here  enters  the  hsts  as  a  critic  of 
Burns's  writings.  Encouraged  doubtless  by  the 
notice  he  had  taken  of  her  objection  to  the  appH- 
cation  of  the  epithet  "  unhappy  "  to  her  "  ancestor," 
she  ventured  to   attack    him  on  the  ground  of  the 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        15 

impropriety  of  his  language.  She  did  so  at  first 
with  sufficient  dehcacy,  hinting  her  objections  with 
a  reserve  by  no  means  inconsistent  with  the  freedom 
of  speech  she  used  with  him  later  as  to  his  domestic 
relations. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  Mr.  Creech's,  Bookseller, 
opposite  the  Cross,  Edinburgh. 

Dunlop, /V<5.  26///,  1787. 

Sir,  — I  sit  down  at  Lady  Wallace's  ^  desire  to  write  you 
for  four  copies  more  and  two  for  another  lady,  which,  added 
to  the  list  I  sent  you  before  for  Mr.  Creech,  makes  in  whole 
forty-five  of  this,  and  five  you  sent  me  of  the  first  im- 
pression of  your  Poems  —  in  all  fifty.  I  beg  you  may 
take  the  trouble  of  securing  them  for  me,  and  sending 
them  as  soon  as  printed  by  Gabriel  Watson,  carrier  from 
Edr.  to  Glasgow,  directed  for  me  at  Dunlop,  where  I  still 
hope  you  will  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you ;  but 
should  anything  prevent  that,  I  beg  you  may  write  me  how 
and  where  to  send  your  money.  Indeed  I  am  now  afraid 
my  friend  Mr.  Moore  will  rob  us  of  you  altogether  by  per- 
suading you  to  go  to  London.  You  see  I  have  always 
some  fear  on  your  account ;  indeed  you  have  made  me 
heartily  ashamed  of  the  last  I  exprest.  Can  you  forgive 
any  one,  who,  after  reading  your  works,  could  entertain  a 
suspicion  so  injurious  to  the  author?  Yet — I  don't  know 
how  —  I  believe  we  are  so  used  to  consider  poetry  as 
fiction  that  I  confess  reading  the  most  compleat  volume 
ever  fell  in  my  hand  in  verse  did  not  impress  my  mind 
with  that  esteem  for  the  author  which  was  the  instantaneous 
effect  of  my  reading  your  letter  in  prose.  The  sentiments 
were  delicate,  noble  and  well-exprest,  and  were  particularly 


1 6  Correspondence  between 

addrest  to  myself.  Then  you  so  genteelly  compliment  me 
with  the  name  of  your  Patroness  that  you  half  persuade 
me  you  were  in  earnest,  and  tempt  me  to  avail  myself  of 
the  right  the  word  confers  to  tell  you  the  truth  with  regard 
to  your  book  —  at  least  what  I  think  so. 

You  ought  to  take  off  a  few  patches  which  consummate 
beauty  has  no  use  for,  which  in  a  polite  and  enlightened 
age  are  seldom  wore,  and  which  a  delicate,  manly  mind 
cannot  regret  the  want  of.  Forgive  my  saying  that  every 
undecency  is  below  you,  and  sinks  the  voice  of  your  fame 
by  putting  to  silence  your  female  admirers.  You  will  one 
day  think  so  yourself,  and  curse  every  allusion  which  for- 
bids a  modest,  lovely  girl  receiving  as  the  most  acceptable 
present  a  young  lover  could  make  her  Burns's  poems. 
Would  not  your  heart  feel  delight  in  believing  the  bright 
fire  of  your  genius  a  more  favourable  light  for  discovering 
the  mutual  kindling  eye  than  the  moon's  wan,  unwarming 
beam  ?  But  this  is  a  pleasure  you  proclude  yourself  by  a 
few  ill-chosen  lines.  A  lady  dare  not  acknowledge  acquaint- 
ance with  any  beauty  which  the  world  must  know  she  has 
met  in  bad  company,  and  unless  you  pare  off  these  fringes, 
when  once  novelty  and  fashion  cease  to  sanctify  your 
name,  no  woman  under  fifty  will  pronounce  it,  and  by 
that  time  you  will  not  care  whether  she  does  or  not ;  but 
I  hope  you  have  already  made  this  sacrifice  to  the  young 
Graces. 

When  I  read  the  Epitaph  of  the  best  Bard  ever  adorned 
my  country,  I  do  it  without  regret,  since  his  confession 
graces  his  tombstone,  and  I,  having  full  faith  in  his  resurrec- 
tion, trust  he  shall  rise  again  freed  from  those 

thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low 
And  stain'd  his  name. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        \y 

Nor  would  I  have  this  purely  owing  to  prudent,  cautious 
self-controul,  but  to  the  refinement  of  his  latter  state.    Once 
more  forgive  me.     Your  glory  became  mine  from  the  mo- 
ment  you    declared    yourself    the    historian    of    my   race. 
Henceforward  I  shall  blush  for  every  impropriety  you  utter, 
and  drop  a  tear  on  every  blot  that  can  stain  your  paper. 
Formerly  I  would  only  have  turned  the  leaf  and  lost  the 
remembrance  of  the  only  fault  amid  innumerable  pleasures 
and  instructions,  more  delightfully  blended  by  you  from  the 
87th  to  the  iSist  page  than  ever  I   met  them  anywhere 
else.     There  are  incomparable  touches  through  the  whole, 
but  in  that  compass  they  are  uniformly  sublime,  tenderly 
affecting  or  chearfuUy  amusing  beyond  expression,  and  un- 
interrupted by  anything  malice  itself  could  cavil  at.     Even 
the   striking  beauties  in  the  rest  of  the  book  have  hardly 
power  to  draw  one  out  of  that  enchanting  circle,  at  least  till 
it  is  perfectly  imprinted  on  the  memory.     Indeed  should  I 
take  a  ramble  to  the  Holy  Fair,  visit  J.  L.,  take  leave  of  the 
Masons,  read  the  inimitable  Epitaph  of  the  Bard,^  and  stop 
a  moment  wherever  genuine  beauty  demanded  notice,  there 
would  be  no  getting  home  again  in  the  compass  of  a  letter, 
nor  should  I  leave  room   for  a  question  which,  though  I 
have  no  right  to  ask,  I  am  much  interested  in.     Have  your 
friends  been  able  to  point  out  any  future  plan  for  you ;  or, 
as  Pope  said,  shall  Homer  provide  for  his  children ;  or,  if 
so,  in  what  line  would  you  wish  it?     I  suspect  a  military 
one,  though  without  any  other  reason  but  the  red  berries 
you  add  to  the  beautiful  garland  of  the  tenth  Muse,^  who, 
like  the  tenth  wave  of  her  seas,  overtops  all  the  rest  that 
went  before  her.      You  have  already  told  us  "  Cash  your 
pouches  wad  na  bide  in."     This  makes  it  doubly  needful 
for  you  to  form  a  wish,  and  communicate  it  to  some  one 

VOL.  I.  —  2 


1 8  Correspondence  between 

that  could  assist  its  completion,  as  there  is  no  time  they 
would  find  it  so  easie  as  when  the  world  are  in  the  eager 
eve  of  expectation.  Just  before  the  longed-for  publication, 
or  at  the  moment  it  is  first  seen  and  in  every  mouth,  would 
be  the  time  some  active  friend  might  drop  some  useful  hint 
to  forward  any  favourite  scheme  which  you  thought  could 
make  you  happy.  Perhaps  Mr.  Moore  might  be  that  lucky 
friend.  He  is  in  the  scene  of  fortune,  and  no  one  would 
have  more  pleasure  in  setting  a  scaffold  to  build  yours,  or 
more  address  in  knowing  where  or  how  to  place  it.  Should 
an  opportunity  ofier,  at  least,  his  good  sense,  knowledge  of 
the  world,  and  enthusiastick  fondness  for  genius,  will  make 
him  a  good  adviser.  He  is  much  pleased  with  your  corre- 
spondence, and  will,  as  well  as  I,  like  you  the  better  for 
thinking  of  propping  up  an  old  tree  which  once  o'ershad- 
owed  the  plain  just  when  the  earth  shaken  from  its  roots 
makes  others  fly  its  fall,  but  as  it  has  frequently  threatened 
this  before,  I  don't  yet  doubt  with  your  help  it  may  still 
flourish  a  thousand  years  longer.  At  any  rate  your  good 
inclination  does  you  honour,  and  gives  me  pleasure  to  sup- 
pose what  such  a  genius  may  make  of  such  a  subject,  as 
I  am  proud  to  say  my  forefathers  have  provided  for  the 
bards  and  historians  of  Scotland.  I  meant  to  return  my 
thanks,  which,  as  you  like  it  better,  shall  rhyme,^  and  prob- 
ably not  be  worth  the  groat  they  will  cost  you  in  postage ; 
but  no  matter.  Only,  I  beg  you  may  receive  and  treat  it 
as  the  private  letter  of  a  friend  by  keeping  it  to  yourself. 
I  ought  to  have  told  you  that  numbers  at  London  are  learn- 
ing Scots  to  read  your  book,  but  they  don't  Hke  your 
Address  to  the  King,  and  say  it  will  hurt  the  sale  of  the 
rest.  Of  this  I  am  no  judge.  I  can  only  say  there  is  no 
piece  in  the  whole  I  would  vote  to  leave  out,  tho'  severals 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        1 9 

where  I  would  draw  my  pen  over  lines,  or  spill  the  ink-glass 
over  a  verse,  from  the  esteem  which,  though  I  have  never  had 
the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance,  I  nevertheless  entertain  for 
the  author,  and  the  interested  wish  that  the  pen  which  cele- 
brates my  chief  should  be  unspotted  as  well  as  superexcellent. 
Adieu.  Forgive  the  length  of  this,  and  believe  me.  Sir,  your 
obliged  humble  sert.  Fran.  Dunlop. 

(i)  The  Dowager  Lady  Wallace  of  Craigie,  Mrs. 
Dunlop's  stepmother. 

(2)  "  The  Holy   Fair,"  "  Epistles   to  J.  Lapraik," 
"  The  Farewell,"  and  "  A  Bard's  Epitaph." 

(3)  "  Coila  "  of  "  The  Vision." 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holly-boughs 
Were  twisted,  gracefu',  round  her  brows. 


"  And  wear  thou  i/iis  "  —  she  solemn  said, 
And  bound  the  holly  round  my  head ; 
The  polish'd  leaves  and  berries  red 

Did  rustling  play. 

(4)  Verses  enclosed  on  separate  sheet  beginning  — 

To  RoBT.  Burns. 
To  you,  kind  Bard,  my  warmest  thanks  I  send. 
My  country's  poet  and  her  saviour's  friend. 

At/.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop,  Stewarton. 

Edinburgh,  March  22nd,  1787. 
Madam,  —  I  read  your  letter  with  watery  eyes.  A  little, 
very  little  while  ago,  /  had  scarce  a  friend  hut  the  stiibborti 
pride  of  my  own  bosom ;  now  I  am  distinguished,  pat- 
ronised, befriended  by  you.  Your  friendly  advices,  I  will 
not  give  them  the  cold  name  of  criticisms,  I  receive  with 
(^ reverence.  I  have  made  some  small  alterations  in  what  I 
before  had  printed.  I  have  the  advice  of  some  very  judi- 
cious friends  among  the  literati  here,  but  with  them  I  some- 
times find  it  necessary  to  claim  the  privilege  of  thinking  for 
myself.     The  noble  Earl  of  Glencairn,  to  whom  I  owe  more 


20  Correspondence  between 

than  to  any  man,  does  me  the  honor  of  giving  me  his 
strictures  ;  his  hints,  with  respect  to  impropriety  or  indeli- 
cacy, I  follow  implicitly. 

You  kindly  interest  yourself  in  my  future  views  and 
prospects ;   there  I  can  give  you  no  light.     It  is  all 

Dark  as  was  Chaos  ere  the  infant  sun 
Was  roll'd  together,  or  had  try'd  his  beams 
Athwart  the  gloom  profound. 

The  appellation  of  a  Scottish  bard  is  by  far  my  highest 
pride ;  to  continue  to  deserve  it  is  my  most  exalted  ambi- 
tion. Scottish  scenes  and  Scottish  story  are  the  themes  I 
could  wish  to  sing.  I  have  no  dearer  aim  than  to  have  it 
in  my  power,  unplagued  with  the  routine  of  business,  for 
which  heaven  knows  I  am  unfit  enough,  to  make  leisurely 
pilgrimages  through  Caledonia ;  to  sit  on  the  fields  of  her 
battles ;  to  wander  on  the  romantic  banks  of  her  rivers ; 
and  to  muse  by  the  stately  towers  or  venerable  ruins,  once 
the  honored  abodes  of  her  heroes. 

But  tliese  are  all  Utopian  thoughts  :  I  have  dallied  long 
enough  with  life  ;  't  is  time  to  be  in  earnest.  I  have  a  fond, 
an  aged  mother  to  care  for ;  and  some  other  bosom-ties 
perhaps  equally  tender.  Where  the  individual  only  suffers 
by  the  consequences  of  his  own  thoughtlessness,  indolence 
or  folly,  he  may  be  excusable  ;  nay,  shining  abilities,  and 
some  of  the  nobler  virtues  may  half  sanctify  a  heedless 
character ;  but  where  God  and  nature  have  entrusted  the 
welfare  of  others  to  his  care ;  where  the  trust  is  sacred,  and 
the  ties  are  dear ;  that  man  must  be  far  gone  in  selfishness, 
or  strangely  lost  to  reflection,  whom  these  connexions  will 
not  rouse  to  exertion. 

I  guess  that  I  shall  clear  between  two  and  three  hundred 
pounds  by  my  authorship ;  with  that  sum  I  intend,  so  far 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        21 

as  I  may  be  said  to  have  any  intention,  to  return  to  my  old 
acquaintance,  the  plough,  and,  if  I  can  meet  with  a  lease  by 
which  I  can  live,  to  commence  farmer.  I  do  not  intend  to 
give  up  poetry :  being  bred  to  labour,  secures  me  indepen- 
dence, and  the  muses  are  my  chief,  sometimes  have  been 
my  only,  enjoyment.  If  my  practice  second  my  resolution, 
I  shall  have  principally  at  heart  the  serious  business  of  life ; 
but  while  following  my  plough,  or  building  up  my  shocks,  I 
shall  cast  a  leisure  glance  to  that  dear,  that  only  feature  of 
my  character,  which  gave  me  the  notice  of  my  country,  and 
the  patronage  of  a  Wallace. 

Thus,  honored  madam,  I  have  given  you  the  bard,  his 
situation,  and  his  views,  native  as  they  are  in  his  own 
bosom.  rqb^^  Burns. 

F.S.^  —  I  have  to-day  corrected  the  last  proof  sheet  of 
my  poems,  and  have  now  only  the  glossary  and  subscribers' 
names  to  print.  Printing  this  last  is  much  against  my  will, 
but  some  of  my  friends  whom  I  do  not  chuse  to  thwart  will 
have  it  so.  I  have  both  a  second  and  third  Edition  going 
on,  as  the  second  was  begun  with  too  small  a  number  of 
copies.  The  whole  I  have  printed  is  three  thousand. 
Would  the  profits  of  that  afford  it,  with  rapture  I  would 
take  your  hint  of  a  military  life,  as  the  most  congenial  to 
my  feelings  and  situation  of  any  other,  but,  "  what  is  want- 
ing cannot  be  numbered."  R.  B. 

(i)  This  postscript  is  a  "find"  of  twofold  value. 
It  reveals  the  fact  that  Burns  seriously  thought  of  a 
military  career,  as  Mrs.  Dunlop  suggested  in  the  pre- 
vious letter,  and  might  have  tried  for  a  commission 
if  the   profits  of  the    Edinburgh    edition   had    been 


22  Correspondence  between 

larger.  Secondly,  this  P.S.  confirms  the  theory  that 
the  existence  of  two  separate  impressions  of  the 
Edinburgh  edition,  known  respectively  as  the  "  Stink- 
ing "  and  the  "  Skinking  "  (from  the  spelling  of  a 
word  in  "  To  a  Haggis "),  is  owing  to  the  fact  that 
the  demand  much  exceeded  the  supply  first  printed, 
and  that  the  types  had  to  be  "set  up"  again;  whence 
arose  the  variations  of  the  "  Stinking "  impression, 
some  of  them  Burns's  own  corrections,  some  the 
printer's  vagaries. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns, 

care  of  Mr.  Creech,  Bookseller, 

opposite  the  Cross,  Edinburgh.  Dunlop,  2(jth  March  1787. 

Sir,  —  I  have  read  over  yours  with  as  much  study  and 
attention  as  if  the  plan  had  been  for  myself  instead  of  you, 
and  every  time  I  look  it  over  I  more  and  more  approve  the 
ideas  it  contains.  Yet  I  fear  like  the  women  you  have  only 
exprest  your  judgment  in  the  letter  and  your  inclination  in 
the  postscript,  and  see  plainly  that  the  Muse's  garland  did 
not  deceive  me.  Indeed  in  your  particular  situation  a  mili- 
tary line  wears  several  attractions,  not  wholly  to  be  slighted, 
but  which  would  be  much  too  dearly  purchased  by  laying 
out  your  all  for  an  ensigncy  which,  when  you  had  it,  could 
not  make  you  happy,  placed  in  a  rank  you  could  difficultly 
support,  unable  to  assist  a  mother  or  a  friend  with  your 
purse,  or  comfort  them  with  your  presence,  harassed  and 
tost  about,  torn  from  those  you  loved,  and  condemned  to  a 
slavish  dependence,  a  subaltern  obedience  to  the  capricious 
orders  of  petulant,  ignorant  boys,  who,  though  your  inferi- 
ours  in  everything  valuable,  would  despise  talents  they  had 
not  knowledge  to  discover  or  taste  to  relish,  and  pretend  to 
overlook  you  were  your  hair  worse  drest  or  your  hat  worse 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        23 

cocked  than  their  own.  Indeed,  should  any  of  the  nobles 
of  the  land  present  you  with  a  pair  of  colours,  the  case 
would  be  very  different,  but  I  hope  and  trust  you  will  never 
think  of  buying  into  the  army,  unless  you  can  command  at 
least  ^250  more  than  the  ;^4oo  which  is  the  regulated 
price.  I  am  sure  I  am  right  in  this,  and,  if  I  saw  you, 
could  convince  you  by  a  thousand  reasons.  At  any  rate 
the  pomp  of  war  is  more  for  poetry  than  practice,  and 
although  warriors  may  be  heros,  peace  soldiers  are  mostly 
powdered  monkies.  So  you  see,  if  it  will  not  do,  I  comfort 
you  like  the  tod  with  the  sour  plums.^ 

Now  as  to  what  you  mention  of  the  farm,  I  do  think  it 
the  most  manly,  spirited,  independent  scheme  you  can 
form.  Rural  scenes,  domestick  duties,  our  native  manners 
and  our  early  friends  are  the  rational  charm  of  life,  and 
amid  these  the  Muses  and  Graces  must  delight  to  dwell, 
but  may  not  even  this  rob  Ayrshire  of  her  native  Bard?  I 
am  sorry  to  say  so,  but  I  have  been  told  farms  are  to  be 
found  more  improvable  in  Orkney  or  the  North  Highlands 
than  in  the  Low  Country,  and  rented  cheaper.  Of  this 
you  could  be  informed  by  Mr.  Balfour,  the  writer,  at  whose 
house  you  were,  and  who,  as  well  as  his  father-in-law, 
admire  you  much,  and  would  be  happy  to  give  you  every 
information  you  could  desire.  Yet  if  (as  I  hope)  no  inter- 
est can  bribe  you  from  your  native  plains,  where  we  would 
sometimes  have  a  chance  of  seeing  you,  there  is  possibly  as 
good  to  be  found  on  the  estates  of  Loudoun,  Miss  Scot's, 
Commodore  Stewart,  and  many  more  who  would  certainly 
give  you  at  least  a  preference  on  equal  terms  to  what  others 
might  offer,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  fix  elsewhere  without 
coming  west  and  looking  at  these.  Besides,  if  we  must 
lose  you,  there  might  be  other  plans  talked  over,  either  for 


24  Correspondence  between 

home  or  abroad.  Indeed,  first  when  your  Book  reached 
Edr.,  Mr.  Smith/  Commissioner  of  the  Customs,  suggested 
a  thing  which  he  thought  might  be  procured,  and  which  he 
said  was  just  what  he  would  have  wished  for  himself  had 
he  been  in  narrow  circumstances  —  being  a  Salt  Officer. 
Their  income  is  from  ;^30  to  ^£40,  their  duty  easie,  inde- 
pendent, and  free  from  that  odium  or  oppression  attached 
to  the  Excise.  He  has  through  life  been  a  friend  to  un- 
friended merit,  has  great  fame  in  the  world  as  an  author, 
both  his  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiment  2iXi^  Wealth  of  Nations 
being  much  applauded.  He  was  one  of  those  first  heM 
forth  your  name  forcibly  to  the  public  at  Edr.  when  very 
few  had  seen  your  Book,  and  my  son  told  me  was  the  per- 
son he  heard  take  the  most  interest  in  your  future  pros- 
pects, wishing  to  procure  you  leizure  to  write,  which  he 
said  was  all  you  wanted  to  insure  your  figure  and  fortune. 
He  lately  complained  that  he  had  asked  it,  but  could  not 
get  a  sight  of  you.  Here  I  think  you  have  been  wrong,  as 
well  as  in  printing  names,  to  accumulate  expense  and  hurt 
yourself,  without  serving  any  body.  Indeed  I  should  think 
the  accumulation  monstrous.  I  hoped  the  cost  would  not 
have  exceeded  two  shillings  a  volume. 

I  have  a  favour  to  beg  of  you  that  you  will  deliver  the 
inclosed  out  of  your  own  hand  with  my  compts.  to  Mr. 
Smith,  and  at  same  time  thank  him  for  the  good  will  he 
exprest  towards  you.  Excuse  my  giving  you  this  trouble. 
I  would  not  had  I  not  believed  him  one  of  the  best,  and 
found  him  one  of  the  most  agreeable  men  in  the  world,  so 
much  that  thirty  years  has  not  effaced  the  remembrance  of 
the  two  first  days  I  past  with  him  before  I  knew  who  he 
was,  and  before  travel,  high  company,  and  high  affluence, 
had  given  that  fion  [Fr.  =  finishing  touch]  to  his  character 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        25 

it  must  now  possess.  Besides  I  am  interested  in  the  busi- 
ness I  wrote  about.  Should  this  Salt  plan,  mentioned 
before  the  world's  opinion  could  be  known,  still  have 
wherewithal  to  please  you,  you  may  introduce  it,  and  beg 
Mr.  Smith  would  be  so  good  as  instruct  you  in  the  proper 
forms  of  application,  and  where  they  should  be  made,  and 
let  me  know,  that  I  may  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  use, 
though  never  so  little.  But  you  must  not  throw  away  on 
me  the  flattering  title  of  Patroness,  fit  to  decorate  a  duch- 
ess, for  tho'  nobody  can  wish  genius  better,  my  wings  have 
been  sore  dipt,  and  are  too  weak  and  short  to  shelter 
this  now  unprotected  brood  Nature  has  committed  to  my 
charge.  I  am  far  too  little  conversant  in  the  world  to 
matron  the  Muses  with  due  splendor  and  propriety  such  as 
their  luster  and  yours  would  demand  to  introduce  you 
favourably  to  the  public  —  I  mean  for  your  interest ;  your 
fame  wants  no  help,  nor  I  any  bribe  to  my  vanity  to  inspire 
the  highest  admiration  of  the  poems  and  the  highest  esteem 
for  their  author.  Nor  shall  I  leave  anything  untried  I  can 
think  of  to  help  your  plans  forward,  if  you  let  me  know 
them,  well  knowing 

That  though  the  wished-for  end  's  denied. 
Yet  while  the  busy  means  are  ply'd, 
They  bring  their  own  reward. 

Lord  Glencairn's  conduct  to  you  would  raise  my  opinion 
of  him  had  it  not  been,  like  my  stature,  many  years  ago 
come  to  its  pitch.  Yet  I  wish  he  may  not  bear  too  tender 
a  hand  in  pruning  your  bays.  By  the  by,  I  perhaps  mis- 
take where  you  met  Mr.  Balfour,  but  he  is  married  to  a 
sister's  daughter  of  Dr.  Moore's,  and  I  am  sure  you  have 
seen  him  either  at  home,  or  I  think  with  Mr.  Draper.  I 
thank  you  for  the  care  of  my  book,  but  have  not  yet  got  it. 


26  Correspondence  between 

Adieu.  I  daresay  you  are  tired  of  my  pen,  but  I  can  hon- 
estly say  nothing  has  afforded  me  so  much  pleasure  for  five 
years  last  past  as  yours,  and  that  I  am  on  that  account, 
Sir,  your  much  obliged  and  obedient  humble  servt. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  The  Fox  (^Scot.  tod)  and  the  Grapes. 

(2)  It  is  an  entire  revelation  that  Adam  Smith,  the 
author  of  The  Wealth  of  Nations,  took  so  much  in- 
terest in  Burns  as  even  to  suggest  that  he  might 
become  a  salt  officer  in  the  service  of  the  Customs  at 
a  commencing  salary  of  ^^"35  a  year.  In  the  winter 
1786-87  he  was  dangerously  ill,  and  immediately  on 
recovery  went  to  London  to  consult  John  Hunter. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  at  Mr.  Creech's,  Bookseller, 

opposite  the  Cross,  Edinburgh. 

\^h  April  1787. 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  received  lately  the  book  and  head  ^  you 
were  so  good  as  send,  and  which  I  accept  with  pride  and 
pleasure  as  an  evidence  of  attention  from  one  on  whose 
remembrance  I  set  the  highest  value.  Every  time  I  look  at 
it  will  more  excite  my  wish  to  deserve  the  esteem  of  the 
giver,  an  acquisition  from  which,  had  we  lived  nearly  in 
the  same  age  of  the  world,  I  might  have  reaped  much  sat- 
isfaction and  advantage,  but  to  which  the  circumstance  of 
being  a  stranger  is  perhaps  at  present  my  strongest  claim, 
except  you  admit  that  of  truly  relishing  the  expression  of 
your  pen,  and  pouring  forth  my  unavailing  wishes  for 
every  good  that  can  crown  the  head  or  heart  by  which  it 
is  directed. 

I  read  your  advertisement  with  anxious  impatience  to 
see  what  you  have  and  what  you  have  not  printed,  but 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        27 

before  that  can  be  satisfied,  must  trouble  you  with  a  great 
deal  of  business  to  transact  for  me.  You  will  say  a  Bard 
is  unfit  for  business,  and  ought  not  to  be  teased  with  it, 
but  I  rather  believe  a  genius  like  yours  will  have  pleasure 
in  doing  for  a  friend  what  they  would  perhaps  neglect  for 
themselves,  and  I  hope  you  allow  me  a  place  in  your 
hst,  at  least  till  you  discover  some  reason  to  exclude  me. 
What  I  am  now  to  beg  is  that  you  will  receive  from  Mr. 
Creech  and  pay  for  45  volumes  I  wrote  you  formerly  about, 
and  dispose  of  them  as  follows  :  — 

Send  to  London,  addrest  to  Dr.  Moore,  Clifford  Street, 
BurUngton  Gardens,  to  the  care  of  P.  Cadell,  Bookseller  in 
the  Strand,  5  copies,  one  of  them  marked  for  Miss  Williams, 

To  Glasgow,  by  Gabriel  Watson,  carrier  for  that  place, 
who  is  to  be  heard  of  in  the  Grass  Market,  and  leaves 
town  twice  a  week,  1 2  copies  (addrest  to  John  Campbell,^ 
Esqr.  of  Clathick,  Glasgow) . 

6  for  Mr.  George  Macintosh,^  Merchant,  Glasgow. 

Please  write  on  these  two  last  parcels  "  to  be  payed  to 
Robt.  Duncan,  carrier  from  Dunlop,  who  will  call  for  the 
money." 

Send  also  by  the  same  Gabriel  Watson,  directed  for  me 
at  Dunlop,  to  the  care  of  Robt.  Duncan,  carrier  for  Dun- 
lop, 2 1  copies.  (These  are  for  Mrs.  Steuart,  Mrs.  Cunning- 
hame,  Lady  Wallace  and  my  own  family,  as  marked  in  the 
list  I  sent  you.) 

And  send  by  a  porter  i  copy  addrest  for  Miss  Fanny 
Dunlop,*  Mrs.  Balfour's  Boarding  School,  Carrubber's  Close, 
Edr. 

I  inclose  you  ;^i5  for  this  purpose,  and  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  your  sending  me  the  last  numbers  of  your  first 
edition.     I  wish  I  could  add  a  cypher  to  it,  and  I  should 


28  Correspondence  between 


still  be  in  your  debt.  Withdraw  the  subscription-paper 
from  Mr.  Creech,  and  send  it  with  the  books,  and  should 
the  two  gentlemen  in  Glasgow  have  got  theirs  already, 
keep  the  price  of  them  till  you  and  I  meet.  This  much 
for  business.  Drop  me  a  line  by  post,  saying  whether  you 
will  execute  it  as  soon  as  this  reaches  you,  and  whether 
you  got  my  last,  which  I  am  sure  you  would  think  a  great 
inconsistency.  However,  your  mention  of  your  mother 
really  altered  my  ideas  considerably  of  that  line  in  which 
I  formerly  believed  you  might  have  been  happy,  and  made 
me  sorry  I  had  mentioned  it.  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Smith, 
or  how  do  you  like  him?  Perhaps  the  world  has  spoilt 
him.  I  never  saw  him  since  he  went  abroad  with  the 
Duke  of  Buccleugh  a  great  many  years  ago,  when  I  think 
he  would  have  pleased  any  body.  Adieu.  I  am  ashamed 
to  write  you  so  stupid  a  letter,  but  what  is  to  be  looked  for 
from  one  who  has  speel'd  [climbed]  five  and  forty  a 
dozen  years  ago,  and  knows  "  the  tears  all  and  fears  all  of 
dire-declining  age  "  ?     Once  more  farewell. 

Fran.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Probably  an  impression  of  the  Beugo  engrav- 
ing prefixed  to  the  Edinburgh  edition. 

(2)  A  leading  Glasgow  citizen,  merchant,  banker, 
Dean  of  Guild,  original  member  of  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce, 

(3)  A  prominent  merchant  and  tanner;  concerned 
with  the  better-known  David  Dale  in  bringing  to 
Scotland  Papillon,  the  Frenchman  who  introduced 
Turkey-red  dyeing. 

(4)  Probably  Frances  Magdalene,  Mrs,  Dunlop's 
niece,  who  married  John  Dunlop,  her  son. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        29 


To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Edinburgh,  \^th  April  1787. 

Madam,  —  There  is  an  affectation  of  gratitude  which  I 

disUke.     The  periods  of  Johnson  and  the  pauses  of  Sterne 

may  hide  a  selfish  heart.     For  my  part,  madam,  I  trust  I 

have  too  much  pride  for  servility,  and  too  little  prudence 

for  selfishness.     I  have  this    moment    broken   open   your 

letter,  but 

Rude  am  I  in  speech, 
And  therefore  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause 
In  speaking  for  myself;  ^ 

so  I  shall  not  trouble  you  with  any  fine  speeches  and 
hunted  figures.  I  shall  just  lay  my  hand  on  my  heart,  and 
say,  I  hope  I  shall  ever  have  the  truest,  the  warmest,  sense 
of  your  goodness. 

I  come  abroad  in  print,  for  certain,  on  Wednesday. 
Your  orders  I  shall  punctually  attend  to ;  only,  by  the 
way,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  was  paid  before  for  Dr.  Moore's 
and  Miss  Williams's  copies,  through  the  medium  of  Com- 
missioner Cochrane  in  this  place,  but  that  we  can  settle 
when  I  have  the  honor  of  waiting  on  you. 

Dr.  Smith  was  just  gone  to  London  the  morning  before  I 
received  your  letter  to  him.  R.  B, 

(i)  Shakespeare's  Othello,  act  i.  scene  3. 

The  new  edition  came  out  on  the  21st,  and  Mrs. 
Dunlop's  copies  were  apparently  despatched  to  her 
post-haste.  But,  alas  !  the  "  few  patches  "  which,  in 
her  letter  of  26th  February,  she  had,  with  sufficient 
delicacy,  suggested  that  he  should  "  take  off,"  were 
allowed  to  remain,  and  the  Patroness  was  highly 
offended. 


30  Correspondence  between 


Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  Mr.  Creech's,  Bookseller, 
opposite  the  Cross,  Edinburgh. 

DuNLOP,  2C)ih  April  1787. 
To  say  your  hardship  's  in  the  wrong 

My  skill  may  weel  be  doubted, 
But  facts  are  chiels  that  winna  ding, 
An'  downa  be  disputed. 

I  see  you  have  a  will  of  your  own  as  well  as  any  woman, 
and  perhaps,  like  us,  not  always  a  great  deal  can  be  said 
for  its  being  a  goodwill,  and  I  from  self-conceit  perhaps  am 
apt  to  believe  you  had  better  taken  a  letter  of  mine  as  all 
your  own  on  the  present  occasion.  I  indeed  cannot  help 
flattering  myself  that,  had  you  reposed  the  same  implicit 
trust  in  me,  I  should  have  made  better  use  of  it  than  your 
noble  friend  has  done.  At  least  I  'm  sure  I  would  have 
made  more,  and  to  convince  you  that  you  would  have 
acted  more  free  from  error  by  strict  conformity  to  female 
rule,  I  shall  only  mention  one  instance  as  the  only  one 
still  in  your  power  to  rectify,  and  therefore  the  only  one 
worth  pointing  out  to  your  knowledge,  where,  by  following 
literally  the  path  I  pointed,  you  would  have  been  right 
instead  of  wrong.  The  four  copies  I  desired  you  to  send 
here  were  subscribed  for  by  my  father's  widow,  who  is  now 
in  my  house,  and  still  expects  them.  The  lady  ^  to  whom 
you  gave  four  is  no  subscriber,  was  once  my  son's  wife, 
but  has  done  my  family  the  honour  to  renounce  all  con- 
nection with  us  by  a  legal  and  public  deed,  so  that  I 
(at  least)  can  no  longer  consider  her  as  Lady  Wallace,  or 
consent  to  her  pocketing  her  predecessor's  right  to  these 
volumes  for  which  I  sent  my  friend's  money  and  begged 
your  care. 

I  have  got  your  letter  and  parcel  not  ten  minutes,  but 
already  run  over  all  the  new  and  the  old  too,  to  see  what 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        31 


you  had  and  still    more  what  you  had  not  printed,  and 
though  I  admire  some  things  and  like  others,  yet 

While  with  truth  and  pleasure  I  commend, 
I  blame  with  all  the  candour  of  a  friend 

truly  interested  in  your  fame.  Yet  I  will  not  trouble  you 
with  a  single  remark.  You  have  rebuked  my  "  friendly 
advice,"  and  to  cold  criticizm  I  am  wholly  inadequate. 
You  have,  I  suppose,  read  Dr.  Moore's  Travels.  You  will 
find  there  that  the  French  commend  their  Kmg  for  those 
virtues  they  wish  him  to  possess.  I  don't  know  how  this 
may  do  with  monarchs,  but  I  believe  it  does  not  answer 
infallibly  with  every  poet.  I  had  fixed  a  certain  hope  (of 
I  will  not  tell  you  what)  on  your  reappearance  in  the  world, 
but  hope  is  with  me  a  compass  seldom  true.  Yet  I  found 
something  that  put  it  in  my  head  to  read  my  Bible,  and  it 
just  opened  at  the  parable  of  the  man  who,  when  he  had 
washed  and  purified  his  house,  took  unto  him  seven  spirits 
worse  than  himself,  and,  behold  !  the  second  state  of  that 
man  was  worse  than  the  first.  I  do  not  know  why  I  repeat 
this,  for  I  am  quite  out  of  humour  at  the  moment,  and  had 
rather  scold  than  string  texts,  durst  I  assume  that  liberty, 
or  vent  my  spleen  on  one  who  has  so  elegantly  contributed 
to  my  pleasure  at  a  time  when  my  soul  was  not  enough 
alive  to  have  relished  aught  but  the  most  exquisite  en- 
tertainment. I  in  your  Bill  of  Fare  found  a  finely  varied 
feast.  To-day  my  stomach  is  strong  enough  to  be  de- 
lighted with  a  Haggis,  but  does  not  like  all  the  entre-mets 
with  which  it  is  accompanied.  Forgive  my  saying  so  ;  't  is 
no  affront  to  Edina,  Roslin  Castle,  the  introductive  verses 
to  the  Bridges  or  their  conclusion,  the  Winter  Night,  etc. 
etc. ;  but  I  grudge  the  honour  of  your  name  to  half-felt  or 
local   merit,  and  wish   all    such   consigned  to   your   poor 


32  Correspondence  between 

shadow  Campbell,^  shoemaker  in  Kilmarnock,  should  he 
not  get  on  in  the  Church.  Adieu  !  Accept  my  best  wishes 
for  your  prosperity  in  whatever  line  whim,  judgment,  or 
fortune  may  throw  you,  being  with  sincerity,  worth  all  the 
courtly  phrase  of  fashionable  politeness,  Sir,  your  admirer 
and  obliged  humble  servt.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Burns  was  at  this  time  so  little  advanced  in 
intimacy  with  the  Dunlop  family  that  he  confused 
the  Lady  Wallace  for  whom  Mrs.  Dunlop  had  ordered 
four  copies  of  the  new  edition,  and  who  was  the 
widow  of  the  late  baronet  of  Craigie,  with  the  dash- 
ing young  Lady  Wallace  whom  he  met  in  Edinburgh, 
the  wife  of  Mrs.  Dunlop's  second  son,  Thomas,  the 
self-styled  baronet.  There  was  no  love  lost  between 
Mrs.  Dunlop  and  her  "  fast "  daughter-in-law,  and 
the  mistake  the  poet  made  in  sending  to  the  latter 
the  copies  ordered  for  the  dowager  no  doubt  aggra- 
vated the  offence  he  had  committed  in  disregarding 
his  patroness's  advice  in  respect  of  bowdlerising. 

(2)  Born  at  Kilmarnock,  circa  1761.  Published 
in  1787,  through  Wilson  (of  the  Burns  Kilmarnock 
edition),  Poems  on  Several  Occasions,  and  became 
pastor  of  a  Burgher  congregation  at  Stockbridge, 
near  Dunbar. 

EXTRACT. 

Edinburgh,  2fith  April  1787. 

.  .  .  Your  criticisms,  madam,  I  understand  very  well,  and 
could  have  wished  to  have  pleased  you  better.  You  are 
right  in  your  guess  that  I  am  not  very  amenable  to  counsel. 
Poets,  much  my  superiors,  have  so  flattered  those  who  pos- 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        33 

sessed  the  adventitious  qualities  of  wealth  and  power,  that 
I  am  determined  to  flatter  no  created  being,  either  in  prose 
or  verse. 

I  set  as  little  by  .  .  .  (kings?),  lords,  clergy,  critics,  etc., 
as  all  these  respective  gentry  do  by  my  bardship.  I  know 
what  I  may  expect  from  the  world  by  and  by :  illiberal 
abuse,  and  perhaps  contemptuous  neglect. 

I  am  happy,  madam,  that  some  of  my  own  favorite  pieces 
are  distinguished  by  your  particular  approbation.  For  my 
"  Dream,"  which  has  unfortunately  incurred  your  loyal  dis- 
pleasure, I  hope  in  four  weeks,  or  less,  to  have  the  honor  of 
appearing  at  Dunlop,  in  its  defence,  in  person. 

RoBT.  Burns. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns, 

Mr.  Creech's,  Bookseller,  opposite 
the  Cross,  Edinburgh. 

Mr.  Creech  and  his  address  crossed  out,  and  "care  of  Mr.  Ainslie  " 
written'in ;  then  that  crossed  out,  and  "  to  be  left  at  the  Post-Office, 
Dumfries,"  written  in.  At  the  top  of  the  letter  is  added :  "  Returned 
from  Dunse." 

Dunlop,  2.\st  May  1787. 

Sir,  —  I  have  this  moment  yours  with  the  books.  I  in- 
deed received  it  with  singular  pleasure,  and  sincerely  thank 
you,  not  so  much  even  for  saying  you  mean  to  see  me,  as 
for  letting  me  see  that  people  of  the  best  hearts  and  first 
abilities  can  write  as  peevishly  as  myself,  and  perhaps  as 
little  know  wherefore  they  do  so.  For  certainly,  whatever 
cause  I  had  to  be  out  of  humour  when  I  wrote  you  last,  you 
have  none  to  be  chagrined  at  a  world  that  have  hitherto 
done  you  ample  justice.  Even  should  you  meet  abuse,  the 
more  the  better.  Nothing  does  authors  so  much  good,  as 
everybody  agrees  with  Pope  that 

Envy  will  merit  like  its  shade  pursue, 
And  like  the  shadow  prove  the  substance  true. 
VOL.   L  — 3 


34  Correspondence  between 

Nor  is  it  in  the  power  of  spleen  to  destroy  the  fame  attend- 
ant on  works  which  must  please  while  sensibility  or  taste 
inhabit  the  earth,  and  our  language  is  understood  in  any 
corner  of  the  world.  So  long  as  an  author  you  must  be 
valued,  esteemed  and  carest  by  the  men,  I  fancy  you  were 
conscious  your  vanity  could  not  bear  praise  from  the  ladies, 
and  therefore  determined  to  shut  their  mouths  entirely,  in 
which  you  may  perhaps  succeed  too  well. 

You  may  think  my  writing  just  now  superfluous,  but  I  am 
sensible  I  must  appear  from  my  last  rather  capricious,  and 
a  real  desire  not  to  forfeit  esteem  I  set  much  value  upon 
leads  me  to  explain  in  some  measure  the  "  moving  why  "  I 
was  displeased,  for  indeed  it  was  not  my  loyalty  nor  your 
Address  to  the  King  was  at  bottom.  'T  was  a  sort  of  in- 
dignity to  my  sex  which  I  had  warmly  wished  you  to  omit. 
You  say  you  will  flatter  no  created  being.  I  am  sure  you 
have  not  flattered  me,  though  it  was  greatly  in  your  power. 
On  the  contrary  you  severely  mortified  me,  nor  did  I  ever 
in  my  life  feel  more  degraded  in  my  own  eye  than  by  the 
utter  contempt  you  have  shown  for  those  hints  which  it  cost 
me  a  great  deal  to  give,  and  which  I  now  heartily  wish  I 
had  let  alone.  Friendly  advice  when  wholly  overlooked 
makes  one  feel  themselves  mean,  officious,  and  in  the  pres- 
ent case  indelicate ;  and  I  fretted  at  you  because  I  was 
discontented  with  myself.  Then  I  had  another  reason.  I 
pleased  my  Scotch  pride  with  thinking  I  could  hold  up 
your  volume  to  an  English,  nay  to  the  most  polite  French- 
man, and  defied  his  nation  to  teach  their  best  instructed, 
most  polished  nobleman  to  equal  a  Scots  peasant  in  genius, 
sentiment,  purity  of  expression.  Think  what  an  exquisite 
pleasure  you  might  have  afforded  me  at  the  small  expense 
of  half  a  dozen  blots,  or  rather  half  that  number,  cast  over 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        35 

what  your  o\vii  good  sense  must  acknowledge  to  be  impro- 
prieties, only  excusable  in  a  Kilmarnock  edition  of  the 
dawnings  of  authors  debarred  the  converse  of  the  world 
and  content  with  wit  in  her  very  worst  attire,  before  her 
face  was  washed,  because  the  author  had  never  seen  her 
drest.  But  how  shall  I  excuse  to  myself  (for  I  sincerely 
wish  to  do  it)  a  repetition  of  the  old  and  an  addition  of 
new  indecencies  to  which  you  set  your  face  and  my  name, 
and  which  you  print  after  so  long  a  residence  in  the  polite 
world,  and,  what  is  worse,  after  writing  letters  that  bespeak 
an  enlarged  mind  susceptible  of  the  most  delicate  ideas 
and  brightened  with  superiour  acquirements,  which  in  your 
situation  reflect  a  tenfold  luster  on  their  owner  ?  'T  was 
this  interested  me  so  much  in  your  interest  and  your  fame 
as  to  speak  out  where  a  woman  ought  perhaps  to  have  been 
silent.  I  never  criticized  two  words  in  your  work  from  any 
other  motive,  and  I  fear  your  obstinacy  will  hurt  yourself 
still  more  than  it  does  me,  tho'  I  assure  you  that  is  more 
than  you  can  believe,  for  it  has  annihilated  a  scheme  I  was 
very  fond  of  trying  for  your  advantage,  and  in  which  I  flat- 
tered myself  I  should  have  been  able  to  engage  a  number  of 
ladies  so  respectable  that  I  durst  not  now  ofi'end  them  with 
the  mention  of  your  name.  I  have  tormented  myself,  con- 
vinced as  I  am  that  yours  are  not  errors  of  ignorance, 
guessing  why  you  were  so  tenacious  of  them.  Was  it  a 
perversion  of  taste  or  a  corruption  of  heart  made  you  stick 
so  fast  to  what  was  so  unjustifiable?  You  answer  all  my 
doubts  in  one  word ;  it  is  that  you  have  chosen  an  un- 
common model  for  your  sentiments.  I  confess  it  is  with 
all  its  faults  a  noble  one,  and  I  believe  few  can  help  forgiv- 
ing Satan  that  pride  which  prevents  his  either  retracting  or 
confessing  his  guilt  in  consideration  of  that  bitter  remorse 


36  Correspondence  between 

which  wrings  his  great  spirit  with  all  the  agonies  of  useless 
contrition  —  a  feeling  I  shall  not  grudge  you  a  little  of  for 
suspecting  me  of  so  pitiful  a  thought  as  to  wish  your  sacri- 
ficing one  honest  sentiment  of  your  soul  to  lord  or  lady, 
man,  woman,  or  child,  or  even  giving  up  a  Dream  to  party 
spirit.  However,  I  am  glad  you  have  imagined  I  blamed 
the  "  Dream,"  since  you  resolve  to  appear  in  its  defence. 
Now  you  see  I  have  been  buffeting  you  all  this  while  to  ex- 
cuse myself  for  my  bad  humour.  You  will  say  't  is  an  odd 
apology  to  repeat  a  fault  and  make  it  worse,  but  I  do  this 
in  imitation  of  you.  I  shall  likewise  in  perfect  sincerity  of 
heart  adopt  a  courtly  phrase  I  dislike  from  you,  being 
wholly  in  earnest  when  I  say  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Sir, 
your  much  indebted,  humble  servt. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

Why  did  you  leave  out  the  beautiful  motto  prefixt  to 
your  first  volume?  I  would  have  put  it  under  your  head 
had  I  been  allowed  the  honour  of  a  vote.  I  have  been 
told  Voltaire  read  all  his  manuscripts  to  an  old  woman, 
and  printed  nothing  but  what  she  approved.  I  wish  you 
would  name  me  to  her  office.  I  am  quite  qualified  after 
being  thirty-eight  years  a  wife  and  the  mother  of  two-and- 
twenty.  And  I  will  claim  no  wages  but  the  liberty  of  burn- 
ing what  I  don't  like,  or  at  least  hiding  it  for  six  months, 
when,  if  at  the  end  of  that  time,  you  were  still  extravagantly 
attached  to  it,  I  would  be  tempted  to  believe  there  was  un- 
common merit,  though  I  had  never  discovered  it,  in  any- 
thing able  to  fix  the  unconstant  mind  of  man  so  long, 
besides  that  my  own  would  perhaps  be  changed  much 
sooner.  By  the  by,  don't  you  think  Ayrshire  has  great 
merit,  and  that  they  print  with  superiour  taste  and  propriety 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        37 

at  Kilmarnock?  For  instance,  unless  it  was  meant  to  illus- 
trate a  fact  more  suited  to  the  metropolis,  is  not  there  more 
dignity  in  exalting  the  Supreme  Power  in  capitals  than  in 
degrading  the  words  to  mean  italicks,  not  to  mention  my 
Davie  or  x^y  Jean  and  a  thousand  other  instances?  Even 
the  great  Ben  Lomond  sinks  to  a  molehill  when  taken  to 
town  and  put  into  the  press.  I  trust,  however,  the  great 
soul  of  the  Bard,  like  that  of  the  hero  you  are  studying, 
shall  always  retain  the  faculty  of  expanding  itself  to  its 
original  elevation  on  getting  clear  out  of  Pandemonium, 
even  supposing  it  has  been  a  little  deprest  by  the  crowd  and 
confinement  of  the  city.  Now,  allow  me  to  ask,  is  "  Legis- 
lation placed  beneath  the  monarch's  feet,"*  a  sentiment, 
or  a  literal  description  of  the  situation  of  the  Throne  in  the 
Parliament  House  during  the  reign  of  the  Stuarts?  because, 
if  the  first,  I  am  glad  you  did  not  write  it  till  you  went  to 
Edr. ;  if  the  last,  it  seems  to  me  beautifully  taken  the  ad- 
vantage of  to  strengthen  a  contrast  every  heart  not  steeled 
by  prejudice,  I  think,  must  feel,  and  which  you  have  hit  off 
very  pathetically.  Farewell.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  you 
had  inspired  a  shoemaker  [Campbell]  at  Kilmarnock,  if  not 
with  the  capability,  at  least  with  the  idea  of  becoming 
poet.  This  to  vanity,  but  it  will  be  welcome  intelligence 
to  benevolence  that  you  had  put  the  public  in  so  good 
humour  that  they  gave  a  poor  creature  fourty  pound  to 
put  him  to  school,  for,  I  think,  blacking  paper.  I  would 
have  given  more  for  blacking  shoes,  had  he  made  me  a 
pair  of  good  ones,  than  I  would  for  his  poem,  though 
there  is  much  goodness  in  it,  as  there  may  also  be  here- 
after in  his  sermons.  If  they  are  decreed  to  save  souls, 
you  will  have  part  in  the  merit,  but  it  will  go  no  length  in 
settling  my  accompt.     Adieu.     I  won't  rob  you  of  another 


1.8542.5 


38  Correspondence  between 

groat  while  you  stay  in  town,  so  forgive  this  long  scrawl 
if  ever  you  read  this  length,  which  I  half  doubt.  Is  your 
whole  impression  disposed  of?  A  gentleman  asked  me  last 
day  if  I  thought  he  could  get  a  few  copies.  I  told  him  I 
did  not  know,  but  I  should  ask  and  tell  him. 

While  they  abuse  me  I  will  force  them  to  esteem  me 
with  all  my  faults.     J,  J.  Rousseau,  I  think,  says  this. 

(i)  Where  once,  beneath  a  monarch's  feet, 
Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs. 

Address  to  Edinburgh. 

In  May  Burns  toured  in  the  south,  as  the  numer- 
ous addresses  on  the  foregoing  letter  show.  He 
reached  Mauchline  on  his  "  dclatant  return  "  on  9th 
June,  and  thereafter  saw  Mrs.  Dunlop  for  the  first 
time  and  became  intimate  with  her  circle. 

In  a  previous  letter  Mrs.  Dunlop  wrote:  "I  meant 
to  return  my  thanks,  which,  as  you  like  it  better,  shall 
rhyme,  and  probably  not  be  worth  the  groat  they  will 
cost  you  in  postage  ;  but  no  matter."  Rhyme  she  did 
accordingly.  And  now,  having  met  the  poet  face  to 
face,  she  must  needs  relate  in  rhyme  the  incidents  and 
impressions  of  that  long-expected,  wished-for  visit. 
Her  lines  are  very  interesting  as  a  rough  picture, 
with  a  touch  of  caricature,  and  a  tinge  of  satire,  of 
the  poet's  appearance  and  manner.  Disturbed  by  a 
rumor  that  the  poet  had  been  "  seized  with  a  fever," 
she  added  a  short  letter  in  prose  and  sent  it  off  in 
haste  by  one  of  her  servants  ;  a  proceeding  which 
called  forth  the  characteristic  letter  in  reply,  now 
first  published. 


a. 
O 
iJ 

z. 
a 
a 

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z 

< 


X       < 


z: 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        39 


TO   ROBT.    BURNS. 

This  world 's  a  farce,  and  all  things  show  it ; 

I  thought  so  once,  but  now  I  know  it. 

Gay. 

Five  months  of  expectation  past, 

The  long-wish'd  hour  arrived  at  last. 

A  face  popt  in  just  at  the  door. 

The  welcome  head  had  come  before. 

Genius  and  humour  sparkle  in  the  eyes, 

Frank  independence  native  ease  supplys. 

Good  sense  and  manly  spirit  mark  the  air. 

And  mirth  and  obstinacy  too  were  there. 

A  peering  glance  sarcastic  wit  confest. 

The  milk  of  human  kindness  fill'd  the  breast. 

While  pride  and  parts  the  features  thus  controul, 

Good-nature  lurk'd  an  inmate  of  the  soul. 

So  the  green  nut's  sweet,  milky  juice  comprest 

In  a  hard  shell  and  acid  husk  is  drest. 

Surpris'd  my  heart  went  pitter  patter, 

I  could  not  think  what  was  the  matter. 

Can  this  be  Burns  ?     It  is,  I  'm  sure ; 

None  else  could  look  so  like  John  Moore. 

Besides,  ilk  circumstance  declare 

The  author  of  The  Holy  Fair. 

A  thousand  questions  straight  I  plan, 

Some  of  the  Muse,  some  of  the  Man, 

All  friendly  chat,  not  table  talk. 

But  destin'd  for  an  evening  walk. 

Could  I  like  you  with  ease  rehearse 

Each  passing  thought  in  polished  verse ; 

Or,  where  the  couplet  would  not  close. 

Borrow  your  soul-commanding  prose, 

I  'd  paint  the  horrors  of  that  day. 

When  you  were  cross,  and  would  not  stay ; 

My  words  with  so  much  art  I  'd  pack, 

As  soon  should  win  the  poet  back. 

But  my  crow-quill  wants  strength  to  tell 


40  Correspondence  between 

What  joy  was  murder'd  when  you  bade  farewell. 

'T  was  then  in  haste  each  ask'd  by  turns 

What  every  other  thought  of  Burns. 

Some  sigh  with  disappointed  air 

To  see  the  Bard  so  fat  and  fair ; 

Think  sentiment  should  make  sad  havock 

Both  on  the  flesh  and  in  the  stomach. 

Not  Cassius'  meagre  plight  of  yore 

E'er  vext  great  Caesar  half  so  sore ; 

Whilst  others  miss'd  the  waked  loof, 

And  found  in  that  an  ample  proof 

That,  uninspired  by  Coila's  look, 

He  's  college-bred,  and  rhyming  by  the  book, 

Without  his  plough  turns  up  his  mice, 

Nor  goes  to  church  to  look  for  lice. 

Or  if  some  critic  seek  a  fuller, 

His  chamber'd  daisey  's  lost  her  colour. 

Some  mark,  misled  by  fashion's  call. 

You  'd  share  with  few  the  rights  of  all ; 

Would  stretch  out  farms  beyond  their  bounds. 

And  plant  sub-tyrants  in  our  bounds. 

Some  wish  the  man  would  mend  his  Greek, 

And  only  like  Longinus  speak. 

It  was  not  so  that  Heathen  wrot, 

When  he  old  Genesis  would  quote. 

Nor  would  he  e'er  made  Jesus  shine 

With  Bishop  Geddes  in  a  line, 

Since  tane  with  Edinbrugh's  whinstane  hearts. 

He  grows  soon  sick  of  country  parts. 

Now  goes  the  cook  to  warn  for  dinner 
"  Faith,  lads  "  (quoth  she),  "  as  I  'm  a  sinner. 
Yon  chiel  gade  in  wi'  spurs  and  boots 
Is  daft  Rob  Burns  that  prents  and  shoots, 
Does  nought  but  cast  about  quire  clashes. 
And  rant  and  rin  and  chase  the  lasses." 
Sine  Wrights  and  masons  ane  and  a* 
Wi'  hurry  lap  down  frae  the  wa'. 
"  Losh,  keep 's,  is 't  him  ?     What  like 's  his  horse  ? 
I  'm  sure  his  book  's  no  worth  a  curse. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        41 


Trow  ye  there  's  siller  in  his  purse  ? 

Siller  !     A  poet  never  had  a  groat. 

But  faith !     We  'II  look  his  muckle  coat. 

Gosh  guide 's  !     See,  witch  and  fairy  tales  he  reads ; 

I  doubt  he's  papist  too,  and  counts  his  beads." 

"  Hout !  sic  a  lee,"  says  Nelly,  "  ne'er  was  seen  ; 

Dear  man,  can  ye  no  read  the  Faery  Queen  ?  " 

By  this  the  horse  was  standing  ready, 

The  Bard  bade  farewell  to  the  Lady. 

They  looked  by  the  stable  end, 

To  keek  and  glow'r  and  no  be  ken'd. 

Then  out  the  mistress  cast  an  ee 

To  look  what  fairlies  she  could  see. 

In  Ayr  she  'd  served  to  mend  her  breeding, 

Doctors  and  Dukes  und  Bailie  Lemon; 

In  polished  Barr  the  mistress  born, 
Displays  gentility  in  scorn. 
"  Giff  that  be  Burns,  he  may  hae  lear. 
But  faith  !  I  'm  sure  he  has  nae  main 
He  's  brought  his  havins  frae  the  plough. 
Ne'er  touch'd  his  hat,  nor  made  a  bow; 
Lap  on  his  horse,  and  pu'd  his  coat  thegither, 
Clash'd  to  the  Major,  's  gin  he  'd  been  his  brother. 
He  may  write  books,  but  by  his  gate, 
Has  little  sense  and  vera  great  conceit." 
Thus  jibes  and  jeers  ran  helter-skelter. 
And  neither  man  nor  horse  find  shelter. 
But  peevish  spleen  before  to-morrow 
Gave  place  to  sober,  serious  sorrow 
That  he  who  knew  to  please  us  all 
Should  find  his  pleasure  here  so  small. 
Yes,  Burns !  to  you  those  envied  powers  belong, 
That  rouse  the  Passions  with  resistless  song; 
That  lead  the  laugh  in  Pleasure's  roar ; 
Deep  Sorrow's  darkest  dells  explore; 
Share  Summer's  sweetness  with  the  busy  bee, 
Or  cling  like  hoar-frost  to  the  leafless  tree. 
Come,  gentle  Bard !  in  me  that  plant  survey. 
Whose  roots  are  wither'd  and  whose  leaves  decay. 


42  Correspondence  between 


Opprest  with  grief,  and  lost  to  hope, 

I  seek  that  hill's  once  pleasing  top, 

Where  youth  and  joy  took  many  a  round, 

Where  every  spot  prov'd  pleasure  ground. 

Distant  and  sad  the  scene  appears, 

Now  view'd  thro'  heart-corroding  tears. 

Tho'  stretch'd  around  those  hills  and  plain, 

Where  Love  and  Nature  fixt  my  reign; 

No  hill  now  owns  paternal  sway, 

No  more  those  fields  my  love  obey. 

True,  they  as  bright  a  verdure  boast. 

But,  Oh !  to  me  their  charms  are  lost ! 

With  friends  and  fortune,  all  takes  wing 

And  Time's  sharp  scythe  has  cropt  my  Spring ; 

His  frown  has  froze  my  curd'ling  blood 

And  fixt  my  spirits  in  Death's  stagnant  flood. 

Nature's  vast  landscape  floats  before  my  mind. 

Nor  leaves  one  pleasing,  cheering  trace  behind. 


To  Burns. 

2,0th  July  1787. 

Dear  Sir,  —  As  I  sat  amusing  myself  scribbling  the 
above,  I  was  told  you  wexQ  seized  with  a  fever.  Tho'  I 
hope  this  is  not  true,  I  could  not  forbear  sending  the  bearer 
to  ask  for  you,  to  assure  you  of  my  best  wishes  for  your 
health  and  happiness.  At  same  time,  if  my  scrawl  can 
amuse  you  in  sickness  or  in  health,  if  it  can  afford  you  a 
moment's  pleasure  to  see  how  much  your  writings  give 
me,  it  is  at  your  service.  But  remember,  at  yours  alone, 
for  I  know  the  world  would  not  forgive  me  attempting  to 
tack  two  lines  together,  nor  even  accept  my  want  of  success 
as  any  apology. 

My  daughter,  who  was  taken  ill  the  morning  I  saw  you, 
has  been  in  an  alarming  situation  ever  since.  Yet  that  did 
not  make  me  forget  that  you  had  half  promised  to  come 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        43 

back  again.  I  hope  you  will  not  forget  it  yourself;  at  any 
rate  shall  be  glad  to  hear  you  were  so  well  as  to  put  it  in 
your  power.  Lady  Wallace,  my  son,  and  Major  Moore 
join  me  in  compts.  to  you.  —  Believe  me,  with  great  esteem. 
Sir,  your  most  humble  seivt. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

\J"ly2oor2,i  1787.] 

I  am  sure,  madam,  you  have  most  effectually  surprized 
me  this  morning.  Send  your  servt.  twenty  miles  to  enquire 
for  me  !  ! !  By  all  the  towering  flights  of  Pride ;  't  was 
doing  me  an  honor  so  far  beyond  my  wildest  expectation 
that  for  half  a  second  the  shadow  of  a  Doubt  eclipsed  my 
belief,  whether  you  might  perhaps  mean  to  burlesque  me. 
I  have  indeed  been  ailing,  but  your  verses  have  given  my 
spirits  a  fillip  for  one  day.  Without  any  poetic  licence,  I 
assure  you  upon  the  honor  of  plain,  unfettered,  truth-de- 
livering Prose,  they  are  excellent.  I  have  a  long  letter  ^  to 
Dr.  Moore  just  ready  to  put  into  the  Post  Office.  It  is  on 
a  subject  you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  interest  your- 
self in,  so  if  you  dare  face  twenty  pages  of  an  epistle,  a 
reading  of  it  is  at  your  service.  I  don't  doubt  but  you 
will  laugh  at  me ;  I  know  you  will ;  and  I  insist  on  your 
taking  that  amusement  at  my  expence,  solely  by  yourself. 
I  am  not  bound  to  contribute  at  so  dear  a  rate  to  the 
diversion  of  the  rest  of  the  family.  I  have  no  copy  of 
Dr.  Moore's  letter,  I  mean  the  one  I  send  him,  so  this 
you  read  must  go  to  post.  If  you  can  contrive  no  better 
way,  I  shall  call  for  it  myself  to-morrow ;  as  I  am  going 
for  Edinburgh  by  way  of  Paisley  and  Glasgow,  to-morrow 
morning. 


44  Correspondence  between 


My  most  respectful  compliments  to  Lady  Wallace,  Miss 
Logan,2  who  I  heard  at  Ayr  t'  other  day  is  at  Dunlop,  The 
Major  and  all  your  good  family.  —  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
with  the  highest  respect  and  most  sincere  gratitude,  Madam, 
your  much  oblidged  very  humble  servt., 

RoBT.  Burns. 

(i)  This  was  the  famous  "Autobiography,"  of 
which  Mrs.  Dunlop  preserved  a  copy,  now  in  Mr. 
Adam's  possession. 

(2)  The  "  sentimental  sister  Susie  "  of  the  poet's 
friend.  Major  Logan,  of  Ayr. 

On  the  7th  August  Burns  arrived  in  Edinburgh. 
On  the  25th  he  set  out  on  his  northern  tour,  and  on 
the  1 6th  September  he  returned  to  Edinburgh.  The 
following  letter  from  Mrs.  Dunlop  would  be  awaiting 
his  arrival :  — 

Ad.  To  Mr.  Robt.  Burns,  Mossgill, 

near  Mauchline. 

Dunlop,  ^th  Sept.  1787. 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  read  your  manuscript  [Autobiography]  with 
more  pleasure  than  Richardson  or  Fielding  could  have 
afforded  me.  I  had  drawn  to  myself  a  character  of  the 
author,  and  was  interested  to  find  a  confirmation  of  my  own 
system,  or  materials  to  form  a  new  one.  I  changed  my 
mind  at  "every  line,  and  jumpt  about  in  my  opinion,  like 
the  Vision  of  Babouc  in  the  review  of  Persepolis.^  You  said 
I  would  laugh  at  you,  but  you  know  me  not.  I  am  more 
akin  to  the  crying  than  the  laughing  philosopher.  I  was 
truly  interested  as  well  as  much  amused,  and  my  feelings, 
tho'  strongly  marked,  were   of  the  tragic  comic  kind,  but 


■'-'C^        j^ 


^ 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop       45 

never  for  one  moment  indifferent  enough    to    become   a 

farce.     Your  Emilius  is  still  more  engaging  than  Rousseau's, 

and  you  lead  him  on  through  even  a  more  extraordinary 

path. 

Your  alchymy  is  sure  of  wond'rous  kind, 
That  thus  could  form  the  manners  and  the  mind  ; 
Draw  polish'd  learning  from  a  smuggling  club, 
And  black  contagion  from  bright  virtue's  rub. 

And  a  sore  rub  it  was  you  got  from  your  incomparable-'-,,  ^y  ^'^'"xl, 
West  Indian  [Richard  Brown]  —  an  irrecoverable  one  too.  *=?<. 
You  say  "  Here  he  hurt  me,"  but  seem  little  aware  how  Tt^  ^'^ 
much.  Indeed  he  rubbed  off  the  finest  polish  conferred  on 
the  human  soul  by  the  hand  of  the  great  Creator,  and  which 
once  tarnished  no  art  can  ever  again  burnish.  He  extended 
your  ideas,  taught  you  to  quit  gold  for  tinsel,  to  explode 
those  native  sensations  of  the  honest  peasant  which  once 
imparted  to  your  own  breast  and  conveyed  to  another  bliss, 
which  all  the  pride  of  wealth,  fame,  or  knowledge  can  never 
equal  or  compensate.  He  made  you  from  that  moment  a 
less  happy  being,  and  a  less  estimable  man,  reduced  you  to 
a  level  with  those  gentry  you  were  born  to  soar  above,  by 
changing  your  sweetest  pleasures  and  most  rational  pursuit 
into  a  trivial  amusement,  debasing  serious  attachment  into 
affected  foppery  and  modish  gallantry  unworthy  of  any 
steady  return.  Shall  a  man  dare  to  lament  if  his  mistress 
imbibe  his  own  sentiments,  and  feel  it  as  unimportant  to 
meet  or  part  as  he  does?  Here  indeed  the  cottage  leaves 
the  palace  far  behind,  and  while  you  were  straining  every 
nerve  in  chase  of  improvement,  you  unfortunately  run  full  cry 
on  the  back  scent,  and  lost  the  man  in  quest  of  the  gentle- 
man. But  I  need  say  no  more.  If  virtue  is  her  own  re- 
ward, by  this  you  know  vice  is  likeways  sometimes  her  own 


46  Correspondence  between 


punishment.  Don't  you  hear  the  confidences  of  rustic 
innocence  with  inexpressible  envy  and  bitter  regret?  At 
what  price  would  you  not  repurchase  the  first  feelings  of 
your  heart,  that  delicate  fine  ether  of  the  soul  which,  once 
evaporated,  can  never  be  regained,  and  which  you  have 
been  at  pains  endeavouring  to  dissipate,  tho'  I  have  a 
strong  notion  it  is  by  nature  so  strongly  blended  with  your 
vital  spirits  that  you  will  never  be  able  to  get  quite  clear  of 
it.  But  I  am  afraid  there  is  another  blessing  of  your  early 
days  will  not  stick  so  fast  —  that  idiot  piety  you  appear  to 
despise  because  it  is  the  piety  of  a  child.  Remember,  my 
dear  sir,  where  we  are  told  that  of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven.  There  is  a  sweet  enthusiasm  which  seems  re- 
served for  women  and  children  as  the  tenderest  pledge  of 
heavenly  love.  I  am  sure  I  most  sincerely  pity  the  man 
who  has  too  much  sense  for  it ;  I  will  not  positively  say  it 
can  secure  us  everlasting  joys  above,  but  certes  it  is  calcu- 
lated to  soothe  sorrow  and  gild  the  wings  of  hope  while  we 
are  here  below.  It  is  twin  sister  to  a  warm  heart  and  a 
keen  temper,  the  inseparable  companion  of  a  lively  imagi- 
nation, and  therefore  I  hope  still  inherent  in  your  breast, 
whence  if  it  should  ever  be  drove  away,  your  verses  will 
never  again  rise  to  that  sublimity  to  which  they  have  hitherto 
attained.  Nothing  else  could  have  inspired  a  man  to  write 
"  A  Winter  Dirge  "  at  seventeen,  if  it  is  possible  to  believe 
any  one  ever  could  compose  it  at  that  age,  which  I  own  I 
have  hardly  faith  for,  spite  of  every  allowance  I  can  make  for 
the  misfortunes  of  a  beloved  and  dying  parent  ripening  the 
mind  of  a  dutiful  and  affectionate  son,  for  that  son's  being 
a  prodigy  himself,  etc.  etc.  etc.  If  it  is  a  truism  {sic)  do 
confirm  it,  and  if  you  wish  me  to  write  you  any  more  tell 
me  the  names  of  the  Capt.  of  the  West  Indiaman  and  of 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop       47 

the  man  whom  the  money  of  the  Begums  ^  could  not  cor- 
rupt, but  by  this  I  daresay  you  have  compared  my  letters 
so  often  as  to  be  tired  of  the  task,  and  to  think  of  me  as 
our  Mrs.  (  ?)  said  of  you,  that  I  have  little  sense  and  very 
great  conceit  to  put  a  comparison  so  disadvantageous  for 
myself  in  your  power  after  I  knew  it  would  be  made.  But 
I  am  like  the  sensitive  plant  or  a  cobweb  on  the  wall,  wliich 
something  flies  across  and  hurts  every  moment,  and  since 
you  have  encouraged  me  to  scribble  rhyme  or  reason  just 
as  they  come  uppermost,  I  have  found  a  great  relief  from 
doing  it,  and  both  my  health  and  spirits  are  gainers,  not- 
withstanding circumstances  went  against  their  changing  to 
that  hand,  for  since  I  saw  you  I  have  had  a  daughter  almost 
drown'd,  a  grandchild  [a  little  Vans  Agnew]  dead  in  France, 
and  have  got  home  my  two  married  children^  and  for  all 
this  have  been  so  well  as  to  wonder  at  myself  were  not  all 
my  capacity  for  wondering  taken  up  elsewhere  wondering 
at  you. 

I  have  a  strong  desire  to  see  the  lines  you  wrote  on  Miss 
Alexander.^  How  shall  I  tempt  you  to  show  me  them? 
Will  it  prevail  that  I  send  you  a  sight  of  some  I  wrote  one 
day  as  I  happened  to  walk  by  the  road-side  where  some 
palm-boughs  were  growing  which  I  had  pulled  a  twig  from 
and  meant  to  send  by  a  friend  I  am  very  fond  of  to  a  very 
young  and  very  beautiful  sister  of  hers,  from  whom  I  had 
that  moment  got  a  verse-letter?  You  will  justly  say 
"What  a  poor  exchange  are  your  scrawls  for  my  lines!" 
but  consider,  you  show  yours  to  all  the  world ;  I  show 
mine  only  to  you,  and  keep  no  copy  of  what  is  never 
meant  to  be  wrote  twice,  nor  would  I  presume  to  ask  those 
lines  but  that  you  told  me  they  were  not  to  be  printed, 
tho'  they  had    merit.       Now,  I   own   I  admire  the  lady's 


48  Correspondence  between 

self-denial  more  than  yours,  which  is  not  wholly  void  of 
ill-nature,  whereas  hers  is  probably  only  cold  prudence  dic- 
tated by  some  wise  relation,  and  not  perfectly  congenial 
with  her  own  feelings,  which  I  daresay  would  have  been 
gratified  by  your  gaining  applause  from  the  world  on  so 
favourite  a  theme  as  herself.  Yet  I  mean  not  to  detract 
from  the  lady's  modest  merit  —  I  never  saw  her.  Only, 
as  she  ,  is  handsome,  is  a  woman,  and  has  two  nabob 
brothers,  I  think  it  probable  she  has  some  vanity,  and  Vol- 
taire, tho'  very  persuasive,  cannot  convince  me  that  the 
probable  never  happens. 

You  express   yourself  uneasie  in  having  lived  hitherto 
without  an  aim.     You  have  certainly  now  a  noble  one  be- 
fore you  to  secure  easie  independence  and  immortal  fame,[ 
both  which  I  flatter  myself  stand  clearly  within  your  stretch,] 
if  past   success,   sanguine  hope,   and  dissipated  company 
don't  make  you  indolent,  alter  your  original  character,  or  1 
strengthen  that  li^ochondriac  _tint  which   has,  you    say,  \ 
already  tinged  your  constitution,  and  which,  where  it  once 
enters,  requires  every  exertion  both  of  body  and  mind  to 
throw  it  off,  especially  with  one  accustomed  to  an  active 
life  in  their  early  years.     I  would  be  happy  to  know  you 
were  engaged  in  some  more  extensive  work  than  any  you 
have  yet  attempted,  because  I  think  it  would  be  more  in- 
teresting to  yourself  and  more  pleasing  to  the  world,  would 
give  a  more  permanent  stability  to  your  fame,  and  show 
that  your  genius  was  not  a  transient  flash  of  bright  light- 
ning, but  the  steady  radiance  of  the  meridian  sun  in  his 
most  unclouded  splendor.     After  striking  out  so  singular  a 
path  as  you  have  already  done,  I  am  persuaded  there  is/ 
nothing  to  which  with  earnest  application  you  may  not  be! 
equal.     Detached  pieces,  however  remarkable,  leave  on  the 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        49 

mind  only  a  passing  impression  like  "  the  memory  of  the ' 
stranger  that  tarrieth  but  one  night,"  whereas  an  epic  work, 
as  being  considered  the  utmost  height  of  human  excellency, 
is  never  to  be  forgotten  by  the  latest  ages,  but  will  add 
luster  to  Ayrshire,  and  glorify  her  Bard  to  the  end  of  time 
itself  if  he  succeed.     If  he  fail,  he   falls  where  numbers 
have  fallen  before  him ;    the  attempt  brings  no  disgrace, 
but  yields  great  pleasure  and  amusement,  and  may  even, 
should  it  not  fill  all  the  writer's   ideas,  be  productive  of 
very  considerable  profit  to  the  author,  to  the   bookseller, 
and  to  the  readers,     I  am  sure  I  have  reason  to  say  so, 
nor  can  I  ever  repay  the  debt  I  owe  you  since  your  writ- 
ings soothed  my  mind  and  fixed  my  attention  when  noth- 
ing else  could.     If  ever  I  feel  happy  again,  I  shall  certainly 
thank  you,  for  I   do  think  your  "Ruin"  and   "Despond- 
ency"  first  opened   the  way   for  returning  peace    to    my 
mind,  while  my  subsequent  reading  what  dropt  from  your 
pen  added  to  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  and  the  permis- 
sion of  glancing  over  the  Doctor's  letter  has  awakened  the 
strongest  ambition  to  be    honour'd  with  your   friendship. 
I  flatter  myself  nobody  ever  held  a  higher  place   in  his, 
and  I  can  trace  a  great  similitude  in  character  as  well  as 
face,  allowing  for  thirty  years'  start  in  the  world  before  you. 
The  doctor  and  I  are  within  six  months  of  each  other,  and 
were  friends  half  a  dozen  years  before  you  saw  the  light  — 
I  do  not  mean  of  the   Muses,  but  of  Apollo  himself.     It 
was   even  some  years  before  that  period  he   brought  me 
his  bride  that  I  might  join  their  hands  before  the  priest. 
When  they  lost  their  children  'twas  me  shared  and  dryed 
their  mutual  tears.     I  esteem  her  above  all  the  women  I 
ever   knew,  and   like   her   almost  as   much  as    I   do  her 
husband.      While    they  were  in  Scotland  we  lived  in  the 
VOL.  r.  —  4 


50  Correspondence  between 

happiest  intercourse.  It  sweetens  the  very  hope  of  heaven 
to  think  we  shall  there  renew  it.  Don't  you  recognize  her 
and  I  in  one  of  his  letters  from  Geneva  *  among  the  rocks 
of  the  Meillerie  ?  And  you  will  meet  me  again  where  he 
mentions  a  present  one  lady  had  sent  another  of  a  picture 
of  the  Virgin  Mary.  You  bid  me  read  his  letter  by  myself 
lest  you  should  be  laugh'd  at.  You  men  never  think  of 
anything  but  yourselves.  Do  you  think  I  should  have  been 
wholly  insensible  to  the  laugh  against  myself  for  reading  it 
at  all  ?     I  assure  you  I  run  no  risque  of  showing  it. 

What  an  unmerciful  letter  I  have  wrote  !     I  have  a  good 

;mind  to  work  a  purse  or  a  case  to  put  it  in  as  an  atone- 
ment for  the  trespass  on  your  time,  and  to  show  you  the 
ladies  are  not  so  curst  with  want  of  work  as  you  think  them. 

;On  the  contrary,  you  may  remember  some  lines  I  once  sent 
you  wrote  on  yourself.  The  author  of  these  was  actually 
spinning  a  pair  of  stockings  during  their  composition,  as  I 
can  bear  witness.  Now,  I  am  going  to  ask  a  favour. 
Never  come  here  again  if  you  resolve  to  come  in  when  the 
table  is  cover'd  and  be  tired  of  us  all  by  dinner  is  done,  for 
I  would  as  soon  ask  you  to  come  and  visit  me  in  my 
seat  at  church,  or  to  make  one  of  these  court  calls  now  in 
fashion,  that  just  convince  one  people  have  no  pleasure 
in  seeing  them. — Farewell.  —  Your  obliged  and  obedient 
humble  servt.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Voltaire's  Le  Monde  comme  le  va  :  Vision  de 
Bahoiic. 

(2)  A  misreading  of  the  phrase  in  the  Autobiog- 
raphy: "One,  whose  heart  I  am  sure  not  even  the 
'  Munny  Begum's'  scenes  have  tainted;"  said  by 
Gilbert  to  have  been  the  eldest  son  of  Dr.  Malcolm, 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        51 

of  Ayr,  a  boy  friend  of  the  poet's  who  served  as  an 
officer  in  India. 

(3)  Wilhelmina  Alexander,  heroine  .  of  the  song 
"The  Lass  o'  Ballochmyle."  She  ignored  Burns's 
request  for  permission  to  include  the  song  in  the 
Edinburgh  edition,  and  he  bitterly  resented  the  slight. 

(4)  Moore's  View  of  Society  and  Manners  in 
France,  etc. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  to  the  care  of  William  Kerr,  Esq., 
General  Surveyor  of  the  Post-Office,  Edinburgh. 

Dunlop,  i^^th  Nov.  1787. 
Dr.  Sir,  —  Hearing  you  are  at  Edr.^  I  send  (to  the  care 
of  a  worthy  young  man,  Mr.  Kerr,  one  of  the  principal  men 
about  the  Post-Office,  and  son  to  a  great  friend  of  mine, 
whose  character  was  not  less  original  than  your  own)  a 
packet  I  got  from  Dr.  Moore  yesterday  for  you.  I  take 
this  method  for  two  reasons  :  that  I  may  know  if  it  come 
to  hand,  and  that  it  may  be  post  free  being  bulky; 
otherways  I  should  not  have  wrote  you  at  present.  How- 
ever, since  the  pen  is  in  my  hand,  I  cannot  omit  telling 
you  our  friend  the  Dr.  has  been  the  means  of  getting  one 
of  my  sons  [James]  appointed  to  a  Company  in  one  of  the 
new  Regts.  for  India.  I  wish  I  had  your  genius  that  I 
might  thank  him  as  I  ought.  By  the  by,  I  am  told  you 
think  no  friend  you  have  would  take  two  hours'  trouble  to 
make  your  fortune.  Is  this  sentiment  the  offspring  of 
modest  diffidence,  small  penetration,  or  ingratitude  ?  For 
sure  I  am  it  is  fraught  with  terrible  injustice.  Adieu.  — 
Your  most  obediently,  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Burns  visited  Harvieston  and  the  two  Ochtor^:,, 
tyres  in  October,  and  returned  to  Edinburgh  on  the 


52  Correspondence  between 

20th,  taking  up  his  abode  at  2  (now  30)  St.  James's 
Square,  with  his  friend  Cruikshank,  a  High  School 
master  {d.  1795). 

Dr.  Moore  to  Robert  Burns. 

Clifford  St.,  %th  Nov.  1787. 

Dear  Sir,  —  At  the  time  your  very  interesting  letter 
came  to  my  hands  I  was  involved  in  a  business  that  gave 
me  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  This,  with  the  rumour  of  war 
which  then  prevailed,  and  the  efforts  I  was  obliged  to  make 
to  get  my  son  the  Lieut,  in  the  Navy  [see  postea,  vol.  ii. 
p.  127],  placed  in  a  proper  situation,  prevented  my  answer- 
ing you  immediately.  I  now  assure  you  that  the  account 
you  give  of  yourself  and  the  admirable  manner  in  which 

You  run  it  through  even  from  your  boyish  days 
To  the  very  moment  that  you  kindly  tell  it, 

afforded  me  much  pleasure. 

Your  moving  accident  in  the  harvest  field 

With  her  whose  voice  thrill'd  like  th'  ^olian  Harp, 

Your  hairbreadth  'scapes  in  th"  itnmment  deadly  breach. 

The  process  raised  by  holy  cannibals 

Who  such  devour  as  follow  Nature's  law, 

Your  wild  and  headstrong  rage  for  matrimony, 

Your  redemption  thence,  whereof  by  parcels 

I  had  something  heard,  but  not  distinctively  — 

all  were  highly  interesting  to  me,  and  augment  the  advan- 
tageous opinion  I  had  formed  of  you  on  seeing  your  first 
publication. 

In  your  letter  you  hint  at  your  scarcity  of  English.     I 
^am  far  from  thinking  that  this  is  the  case.     On  the  con- 
trary I  am  convinced  you  already  possess  that  language  in 
an  uncommon  degree,  and  with  a  little  attention  you  will 
become  entirely  master  of  it.     In  several  of  your  poems 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        53 

there  is  a  striking  richness  and  variety  of  expression  —  for 
which  reason  I  hope  you  will  use  it  in  most  of  your  future 
productions.  If  there  actually  existed  a  language  called 
the  Scotch  language,  which  had  a  grammar,  and  which  was 
used  by  the  best  writers  of  Scotland,  I  should  perhaps  pre- 
fer it  to  the  English.  But  unfortunately  there  is  no  such 
thing.  The  Scotch  is  as  provincial  a  dialect  of  the  English 
as  the  Somersetshire  or  Yorkshire.  And  therefore  no 
serious  work  can  be  written  in  it  to  advantage,  altho'  it 
must  be  owned  in  works  of  humour  and  naivete  it  some- 
times gives  additional  force  and  beauty.  Some  of  your 
humorous  poems  have  gained  by  it,  and  it  gives  a  fresh 
charm  to  the  beautiful  simplicity  of  some  of  your  songs. 

I    hope   you  will  plan   out    some   work    of   importance 
and    suitable    to    your   genius,    which    you   will    polish    at. 
leisure  and  in  the  returns  of  fancy,  and  do  not  waste  yourf 
fire  on  incidental  subjects  or  the  effusions  of  gratitude  011/ 
receiving  small  marks  of  attention  from  the  great  or  small 
vulgar. 

I  heard  you  was  at  one  great  castle  ^  in  the  W.  Highlands. 
Whatever  the  place  might,  I  can  hardly  suspect  the  in- 
habitants would  inspire  you  with  much  to  admire.  Their 
minds  are  prosaic  and  grovelling;  the  Muses  have  no 
charm  in  the  eyes  of  either ;  tho'  one  is  a  person  of  much 
mildness  of  character  and  integrity. 

I  will  be  much  obliged  to  you  when  you  have  leis- 
ure to  fulfil  your  promise  of  sending  me  the  ideas  you 
picked  up  in  your  pilgrimage  thro''  the  Highlands  and  your 
early  rhimes. 

I  think  you  should  employ  your  leisure  in  collecting  and 
polishing  a  sufficient  number  to  form  another  volume,  but 
the  principal  part  should  be  new,  and  for  this  I  would  have 


54  Correspondence  between 

you  to  reflect  very  attentively  to  choose  right  subjects  j  for 
much  depends   on  this.     You  have  greatly   distinguished 
yourself  from  common  rhymers  by  drawing  your  imagery 
^directly  from  Nature,  and  avoiding  hackneyed  phrases  and 
lorrowed  allusions.     This  you  will  always  have  pride  and 
good  sense  to  continue.     With   the   reputation  you  have 
justly  acquired  I  make  no  doubt  of  your  being  able  to  get 
a   considerable   sum   for   a   second  volume,  whether   you 
publish   by   subscription,  or   sell   the  copy  at   once   to  a 
bookseller.     I  shall  be  most  ready  to  afford  you  my  best 
assistance  and  advice  on   that   or  any  other  occasion  in 
which  I  may  have  it  in  my  power  to  be  of  use  to  you. 
But  you  must  consider  now  that  you  have  a  reputation  to 
lose,  and  therefore  you  will  certainly  not  be  rash  in  offer- 
ing any  new  work  to  the  public  till  it  has  lain  a  considerable 
time  by  you,  and  been  often  subjected  to  consideration. 
If  you  think  of  any  particular  subject,  I  wish  you  would  let 
me  know.     I  '11  freely  give  you  my  opinion,  which  you  will 
afterwards  follow  or  not  as  you  please ;  in  neither  case  will 
you  in  the  smallest  degree  disoblige  me. 

Perhaps  you  may  come  to  London  with  your  new  work. 
If  you  do,  I  will  be  happy  to  see  you,  and  all  my  family  are 
in  the  same  way  of  thinking.  Adieu,  my  dear  Burns.  — 
Believe  me,  with  much  regard,  your  friend  and  servt. 

J.  Moore. 

Direct  under  cover  to  Major  J.  Moore,  M.P., 

Clifford  St.,  Burlington  Gardens,  London. 

At  Miss  Williams's  ^  desire  I  send  you  a  copy  of  some 
lines  I  wrote  to  her  lately  when  she  was  at  Southampton. 
She  said  she  wished  to  send  you  her  picture  drawn  by  me. 
The  truth,  however,  is  they  are  all  exaggeration,  for  she  is 
remarkably  pretty ;  but  on  her  being  a  little  out  of  humour 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop       S5 

at  ray  laughing  at  her  nose,  and  chin,  and  stooping,  which 
she  expressed  in  a  letter,  I  wrote,  in  answer,  the  enclosed. 

I  confess  I  have  said  —  but  pray  do  not  pout  — 

That  your  chin  is  too  fond  of  yr  aquiline  snout, 

Like  the  world  dispos'd  from  inferiours  to  fly, 

It  always  looks  up  to  the  features  on  high. 

That  I  said  of  your  back,  and  I  still  must  say  so, 

It  resembles  the  back  of  an  Indian  canoe : 

What  was  strait  as  an  arrow,  you  've  bent  like  a  bow. 

I  must  own  too  I  hinted  your  waddling  walk 

Was  much  like  a  parrot's  —  and  sometimes  yr  talk. 

Yet  these  observations  as  plainly  you  '11  view, 

Tho'  they  glance  at  your  person,  don't  touch  upon  yon  ; 

For  jyo?t  never  can  think  —  you  're  too  much  refined  — 

That  your  body  is  you  —  you 's  entirely  your  mind. 

And  when  yr  sweet  genius  so  gracefully  flows. 

In  melodious  verse  or  poetical  prose, 

Who  thinks  of  your  chin  or  the  turn  of  yr  toes  ? 

For  you,  my  dear  Helen,  have  proved  by  your  works 

That  women  have  souls,  in  the  teeth  of  the  Turks. 

Your  person  and  face  in  the  hands  of  those 

Who  think  upon  nought  but  the  care  of  their  bodies 

It  is  true  would  be  ranked  for  beauty  and  air 

In  a  pretty  high  class  of  the  graceful  and  fair, 

And  would  doubtless  attract  from  the  thoughtless  and  gay 

A  more  pointed  regard  to  yr  fabrick  of  clay. 

But  all  those  you  will  treat  with  scorn  eternal 

Who  sigh  for  the  shell  and  taste  not  the  kernel. 

(i)  This  may  be  an  allusion  to  the  poet's  myste- 
rious Highland  tour  of  June  1787,  but  more  probably 
the  castle  referred  to  is  Gordon  Castle  —  Dr.  Moore 
may  not  have  been  strong  in  Scotch  geography  — 
and  the  "  inhabitants "  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
Gordon. 

(2)  Helen  Maria  Williams,  poetess  and  novelist; 
born  in  London   1762,  settled  in  Paris  in  1790,  and 


56  Correspondence  between 

imprisoned  as  a  partisan  of  the  Gironde ;  in  her  later 
poHtical  writings  condemned  the  Revolution.  Her 
works  include  Julia,  a  novel ;  a  translation  of  Paul 
and  Virginia;  several  books  on  France;  and  poems, 
including  Edwin  and  Elfrida  and  The  Slave  Trade. 

To  Mrs.  DuNLOP. 

Madam,  —  I  will  bear  the  reproaches  of  my  conscience 
respecting  this  letter  no  longer.  I  was  indebted  to  you 
some  time  ago  for  a  kind,  long  letter  (your  letters  the 
longer  the  better),  and  again  the  other  day  I  heard  from 
you,  enclosing  a  very  friendly  letter  from  Dr.  Moore.  I 
thought  with  myself,  in  the  height  of  my  gratitude  and 
pride,  of  my  remark  that  I  would  sit  down  some  hour  of 
inspiration  and  write  you  a  letter  at  least  worth  twa  groats ; 
consequently  you  would  have  been  a  great  gainer,  as  you 
are  so  benevolent  as  to  bestow  your  epistolary  correspond- 
ence on  me  (I  am  sure)  without  the  least  idea  of  being 
paid  in  ki?id. 

When  you  talk  of  correspondence  and  friendship  to  me, 
Madam,  you  do  me  too  much  honor ;  but,  as  I  shall  soon 
be  at  my  wonted  leisure  and  rural  occupation,  if  any  remark 
on  what  I  have  read  or  seen,  or  any  new  rhyme  I  may 
twist,  that  is  worth  while  —  if  such  a  letter.  Madam,  can 
give  a  person  of  your  rank,  information,  and  abilities  any 
entertainment,  you  shall  have  it  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul. 

It  requires  no  common  exercise  of  good  sense  and 
philosophy  in  persons  of  elevated  rank  to  keep  a  friendship 
properly  alive  with  one  much  their  inferior.  Externals, 
things  totally  extraneous  of  the  man,  steal  upon  the  hearts 
and  judgments  of  almost,  if  not  altogether,  all  mankind; 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        ^J 

nor  do  I  know  more  than  one  instance  of  a  man  who  fully 
and  truly  regards  "  all  the  world  as  a  stage,  and  all  the  men 
and  women  merely  players,"  and  who  (the  dancing-school 
bow  excepted)  only  values  these  players  —  the  dramatis 
persotKBy  who  build  cities,  and  who  rear  hedges  ;  who  govern 
provinces,  or  superintend  flocks  —  merely  as  they  act  their 
parts.  For  the  honor  of  Ayrshire,  this  man  is  Professor 
Dugald  Stewart  of  Catrine.  To  him  I  might  perhaps  add 
another  instance,  a  popish  bishop,  Geddes ;  ^  but  I  have 
outraged  that  gloomy,  fiery  Presbyterianism  enough  already, 
though  I  don't  spit  in  her  lugubrious  face  by  telling  her 
that  the  first  (/.  e.  the  best)  Cleric  character  I  ever  saw 
was  a  Roman  Catholic. 

I  ever  could  ill  endure  those  surly  cubs  of  "  chaos  and 
old  night "  —  those  ghostly  beasts  of  prey  who  foul  the 
hallowed  ground  of  Religion  with  their  nocturnal  provvlings  ; 
but  if  the  prosecution  which  I  hear  the  Erebean  fanatics 
are  projecting  against  my  learned  and  truly  worthy  friend, 
Dr.  M'Gill,^  goes  on,  I  shall  keep  no  measure  with  the 
savages,  but  fly  at  them  with  the  faucons  of  Ridicule,  or 
run  them  down  with  the  bloodhounds  of  Satire,  as  lawful  K^_ 
game,  wherever  I  start  them^     ■"""■ — '  ■ — ' 

I  expect  to  leave  Edinr.  in  eight  or  ten  days,  and  shall 
certainly  do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  at  Dunlop  House 
as  I  return  to  Ayrshire.  —  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Madam, 
your  obliged  humble  servant,  Robt.  Burns. 

Edinr.,  i^h  Nov?  1787. 

(i)  A  native  of  Banfifshire;  from  1779  to  1797 
coadjutor  to  the  vicar-apostolic  of  the  lowland  dis- 
trict of  Scotland.  An  Edinburgh  friend  of  Burns's, 
he  procured  subscriptions  for  the  second  edition  from 


58  Correspondence  between 

the  Scots  College  at  Valladolid  and  other   Roman 
Catholic  seminaries. 

(2)  Rev.  Dr.  M'Gill,  of  Ayr,  the  Dr.  Mac  of  "  The 
Kirk's  Alarm;"  prosecuted  for  heresy  (1789-90) 
on  account  of  his  Practical  Essay  on  the  Death  of 

Jesus  Christ. 

(3)  Obviously  misdated,  as  it  refers  to  Mrs.  Dun- 
lop's  letters  of  4th  September  and  15  th  November 
and  Dr.  Moore's  of  8th  November.  It  must  have 
been  written  on  a  very  early  day  after  the  15th  No- 
vember, as  Mrs.  Dunlop,  in  hers  of  25th  December, 
refers  to  it  as  dating  six  weeks  back. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  at  Mr.  Cruickshank's, 

St.  James's  Square. 

Dunlop,  2t^th  Deer.  1787. 

Dear  Sir,  —  You  say  'tis  an  exertion  of  philosophy  to 
keep  alive  an  intercourse  with  our  inferiours.  I  dare  say 
you  must  frequently  have  found  it  so ;  for  my  part  I  have 
never  had  an  opportunity  of  putting  it  to  the  trial,  as  I 
never  remember  to  have  wrote  three  letters  following  to 
any  one  person,  where  business  did  not  oblige  me  to  it, 
in  the  whole  course  of  my  Ufe ;  excepting  where  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  decided  superiourity  against  me  was  the 
very  motive  which  guided  my  pen,  and  made  me  assidu- 
ously cultivate  a  correspondence  where  I  felt  myself  a 
gainer.  The  notice  of  those  who  possess  soHd  judgment, 
shining  talents,  or  superlative  goodness  of  heart,  has  always 
been  the  first  ambition  and  the  truest  pleasure  of  my  life, 
although,  the  late  Lord  Eglinton  ^  excepted,  I  never  met 
these  in  an  eminent  degree  in  the  very  first  rank  of  my 
acquaintance.     Neither  is  that  train  of  information  which 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        59 

makes  a  man's  ideas  at  once  pleasing  and  instructive,  pecu- 
liar to  high  life.  On  the  contrary  I  have  now  seen  letters 
from  different  Ayrshire  peasants,  which  by  being  addrest  to 
me,  flattered  my  self-love  more  than  it  could  have  been  by 
the  receipt  of  as  many  from  any  peer  I  have  now  the  hon- 
our of  knowing.  The  most  estimable,  and  I  may  add  the 
most  useful  of  my  friends,  have  set  out  in  life  very  hardly ; 
but  yet  I  have  had  the  happiness  to  see  the  world  confess, 
and  fortune  reward  their  merit.  Two  particularly,  who  at 
the  beginning  of  our  acquaintance  could  not  command  five 
pounds  between  them,  I  have  seen  masters  of  ;^i  2,000  or 
;^i 5,000  apiece,  without  any  assistance  but  their  own 
talent,  and  it  gives  me  inconceivable  pleasure  to  reflect  that 
I  was  able  twenty  years  ago  to  discern  those  talents  through 
the  mist  in  which  they  were  then  involved.  One  of  these 
gentlemen  was  then  a  poet.  I  sent  him  your  book  t'  other 
day,  and  wrot  on  a  blank  leaf  the  following  lines,  from  which 
you  may  trace  the  date  of  our  acquaintance  :  — 

To  you,  who  in  your  idle  boyish  days 

Sported  with  Echo  round  Parnassus  base, 

Bound  classic  evergreens  around  her  brows, 

Or  plaited  myrtles  where  now  laurel  grows  ; 

From  Europe's  coasts  to  India's  shores  I  send 

Those  songs^that  charm  your  country  and  your  friend; 

From  Coila's  plains,  your  lov'd,  your  natal  scene, 

With  Bums  I  greet  my  Davie  and  his  Jean. 

You  see  I  don't  keep  my  rhymes  till  they  be  worth  while  ; 
so  don't  be  a  miser  of  yours.  I  receive  with  grateful  joy 
your  promise  of  writing,  since  you  give  it  with  your  heart. 
I  was  afraid  you  might  have  been  of  the  opinion  of  some 
people  that  private  letters  exhaust  an  author's  genius. 
Now,  when  yours  flows  so  high  as  to  wash  the  sands  of 


6o  Correspondence  between 

Pactolus,  by  reaching  the  public,  don't  waste  it  on  me ; 
but  should  ever  your  spirits  flag  too  much  for  the  crowd, 
yet  feel  relaxation  in  breathing  the  effusions  of  the  moment 
where  every  scrap  of  yours  will  be  valued,  indulge  me  with 
those  gleanings  which  shall  be  the  solace  of  my  solitary 
hours,  my  secret  heart's  exulting  boast;  but  no  fund  of 
vanity  for  you,  no  increase  of  fame,  for  no  eye  will  see 
them  but  my  own.  If  you  chuse  to  sacrifice  now  and  then 
your  time  to  me  on  these  terms,  I  will  be  truly  grateful,  and 
you  will  enjoy  your  dearest  mead  "  a  friend's  esteem  and 
praise,"  though  perhaps  you  could  not  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  pick  up  a  more  useless  friend  in  every  respect  than  I 
must  always  be,  now  that  I  have  lost  those  dear  and  re- 
spectable connections  that  formerly  used  to  adopt,  dignify, 
and  patronise  every  partiality  of  mine.  I  wish  you  had 
known  my  father,  that  you  might  have  honoured  Ayrshire 
still  more,  and  not  thought  Professor  Stewart  the  only 
Phcenix  of  the  age.  I  am  sure  he  at  least  deserved  to 
rival  him  in  the  instance  of  just  discernment  you  men- 
tion, for  which  I  will  ever  love  and  revere  his  memory. 
Your  character  of  the  Bishop  delights  me.  I  am  proud 
of  my  son  Andrew  for  being  so  fond  of  him  since  I  read 
your  last,  for  I  convince  myself  yours  is  honest  unbiased 
approbation ;  and  that  makes  me  keen  to  gain  it  for 
myself. 

I  hope  the  clergy  will  not  meddle  with  Mr.  M'Gill,  that 
you  may  not  meddle  with  them.  This  is  not  the  age  of 
priestcraft  that  calls  for  opposition.  Those  that  deserve 
it  are  too  mean  game  for  genius  to  hurt,  and  the  satire  too 
local  for  sale ;  it  would  be  a  subject  would  bring  you  less 
profit,  and  me  less  pleasure,  than  many  a  one  Nature  I  am 
sure  will  point  to  you,  or  you  are  not  the  man  I  take  you 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        6i 

for,  and    I    would  be  very  sorry  to  think  I  was  mistaken 
where  I  beUeve  so  much  esteem  justly  due. 

I  am  afraid  Edr.  has  monopoHsed  your  whole  time,  or 
you  calculate  like  Daniel  by  weeks  of  years  when  you  are 
to  leave  it ;  't  is  already  six  weeks  of  our  vulgar  arithmetic 
since  you  said  you  would  be  west  in  ten  days,  and  no  news 
of  you  yet.  You  say  you  like  rhyme  and  long  letters. 
This  ought,  I  'm  sure,  to  please,  if  you  know  yourself  and 
tell  truth  when  you  say  so.  The  season  reminds  me  of 
expressing  those  good  wishes  which  I  can  honestly  say  are 
not  confined  to  the  holidays,  but  attend  you  all  the  year 
round.  May  the  fire  of  fancy  warm  every  winter  of  your 
life  as  it  has  done  the  past,  and  fate  realise  as  many  of 
imagination's  dreams  as  are  necessary  to  make  you  happy, 
and  allow  me  to  add  an  interested  wish  for  myself,  that  you 
may  always  find  pleasure  in  letting  me  know  what  you  are 
doing  and  how  the  world  goes  with  you.  But  never  men- 
tion rank  or  fortune.  Don't  think  of  these  unless  it  is  to 
remember  your  own  advantages  in  both.  In  family,  as  in 
everything  else,  who  would  not  rather  be  the  Alpha  as  the 
Omega?  In  fortune  are  not  those  most  happy  to  whom 
her  smile  is  least  necessary  and  her  frown  least  dreadful? 
At  any  rate  I  assure  you  I  neither  enjoy  nor  possess  her 
superfluities,  and  were  you  enabled  to  draw  a  comparison 
fairly  with  regard  to  the  staging  of  that  scene,  you  would 
not  find  your  own  lot  in  life,  when  laid  in  the  scale  with 
many  the  world  set  much  weight  on,  kick  the  beam  as  you 
perhaps  imagine  it  does.  At  all  events  to  us  who,  hke 
Pharamondlsjriend  Eginl^art,f  are  to  go  through  the  world 
without  expectations  from  one  another,  those  accidents 
signify  nothing,  and  therefore  ought  not  to  deprive  either 
party  of  what  portion  of  goodwill  the   other  thinks  they 


62  Correspondence  between 


merit,  nor  seclude  that  freedom  of  the  pen  which  enUvens 
our  pleasures  and  above  all  soothes  our  misfortunes. 

When  to  the  wrongs  of  fate  half  reconciled 
Misfortune's  lightened  eye  can  wander  wild, 
And  disappointment  in  a  letter's  bounds 
Find  balna  to  soothe  her  bitter  rankling  wounds. 

You  see  where  I  am.  The  poet's  beautiful  expression 
makes  me  sicken  of  my  own  tepid  stuff;  so  I  shall  bid 
you  adieu,  lest  it  have  the  same  effect  upon  you,  if  you 
have  had  patience  to  get  this  length,  in  which  case 
accept  the  thanks  of  your  humble  servt. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Alexander,  tenth  Earl,  shot  dead  by  Mungo 
Campbell,  exciseman,  in   1769. 

(2)  Probably  La  Calprenede's  novel,  Faramond 
(1661). 

After  at  least  one  postponement  Burns  had  ar- 
ranged to  leave  Edinburgh  at  the  beginning  of 
December,  when  an  accident,  caused  by  a  drunken 
coachman,  laid  him  up  for  several  weeks.  The  Cla- 
rinda  episode  intervened,  and  it  was  only  on  the  23rd 
of  February  that  he  reached  Mossgiel.  The  first  of 
the  two  following  letters  was  written  in  a  fit  of  de- 
pression due  to  physical  pain,  a  return  of  his  old 
nervous  ailment,  and  the  uncertainty  of  his  pros- 
pects, for  in  January  he  was  still  pressing  Creech  for 
a  settlement  of  accounts.  The  tone  of  the  second 
was  doubtless  influenced  by  the  high  pitch  of  emo- 
tional exaltation  to  which  the  poet  had  been  wrought 
up  by  his  intercourse  with  Mrs.  Maclehose. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        63 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop, 

Edinburgh,  2\st  January  1788. 

After  six  weeks'  confinement,  I  am  beginning  to  walk 
across  the  room.  They  have  been  six  horrible  weeks ; 
anguish  and  low  spirits  made  me  unfit  to  read,  write,  or 
think. 

I  have  a  hundred  times  \\'ished  that  one  could  resign  life 
as  an  officer  resigns  a  commission  :  for  I  would  not  take  in 
any  poor  ignorant  wretch  by  selling  out.  Lately  I  was  a 
sixpenny  private,  and,  God  knows,  a  miserable  soldier 
enough ;  now  I  march  to  the  campaign,  a  starving  cadet : 
a  little  more  conspicuously  wretched. 

I  am  ashamed  of  all  this ;  for  though  I  do  want  bravery 
for  the  warfare  of  life,  I  could  wish,  like  some  other  sol- 
diers, to  have  as  much  fortitude  or  cunning  as  to  dissemble 
or  conceal  my  cowardice. 

As  soon  as  I  can  bear  the  journey,  which  will  be,  I  sup- 
pose, about  the  middle  of  next  week,  I  leave  Edinburgh, 
and  soon  after  I  shall  pay  my  grateful  duty  at  Dunlop 
House.  R.  B. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns. 

[January,  1788.] 

I  had  yours  only  this  day.  I  am  truly  vext  to  see  your 
train  of  ideas  at  present.  I  would  read  my  old  grand- 
mother's moulded  household-book  forty  times  over,  and 
get  every  recipe  by  heart,  could  it  furnish  one  salve  for  an 
wounded  spirit  as  effectual  as  I  met  myself  in  your  first 
publication ;  but  I  fear  you  have  drove  away  the  only 
friend  could  supply  that  cordial ;  that  childish  idiot,  the 
companion  of  your  early  days,  nor  will  you  ever  be  as  happy 
again  unless  you  are  able  to  recall  that  discarded  friend, 
unknown  in  the  polite  circle,  and  cherish  her  Hke  a  beloved 


64  Correspondence  between 

wife,  never  to  be  divorced  from  your  bosom.     But  this,  I 
fear,  is  impossible  ;  't  is  here  we  have  the  advantage  of  you. 
A  weak  mind,  if  it  takes  a  wrong  bias,  it  meets  another 
more  strong  than  itself,  whose  arguments  can  bend  it  back 
to  its  original  rectitude,  and  make  it  ashamed  of  its  error. 
A  masculine  spirit,  once  warped  by  passion  or  folly,  sticks 
to  the  wrong  with  a  noble  obstinacy,  seldom  exercised  for 
the  right,  of  which  he  has  often  learned  to  be  ashamed. 
I  fear  I  must  not  mention  piety  to  you,  now  that  you  are 
quarrelled  and  abuse  her  with  bad  names.     I  am  afraid  this 
salt  of  the  soul,  when  it  has  lost  its  savour,  cannot  again  be 
salted,  and  I  am  sure,  if  it  is  cast  out  and  trodden  under 
foot,  nothing  in  this  world  can  supply  its  place.     Besides 
her  other  qualities  the  poor  idiot  is  the  very  best  sick- nurse 
on  earth.     How  she  would  have  cheared  your  last  six  horrid 
weeks,  had  you  not  so   inhumanly  banished  her  with  re- 
proaches from  your  presence.     I  really  pity  you  shut  up 
alone  with  cruelty  and  remorse,  putting  arms  in  the  hand 
of  the  dark  assassin,  not  only  to  murder  poor  poverty,  but 
wickedly  to  stifle  her  weak  cry.     I  don't  know  how  to  com- 
fort you  under  the   pressure  of  such  terrible  guilt  but  by 
recommending  you  to  the  Jesuits,  not  for  extreme  unction, 
as  I  trust  yours  is  no  death-bed  repentance.     Let  me  send 
you  my  only  purse,  and  the  only  guinea  it  ever  contained, 
that  you  may  go  to   your  favourite   bishop  and  buy  absolu- 
tion, drink  the  dredgey  1  of  the  miserable  victim,  or  say  mass 
against  her  resurrection.     I  hope  this  will  set  me  too  a  step 
on  my  way  to  heaven,  should   I   once  in  ray  life  have  con- 
tributed to  make  two  souls  happy,  but  I  hope  after  all  you 
will  take  care  what  coachman  brings  you  home.     Above  all 
don't  let  the  devil  drive,  as  it  is  alledged  you  sometimes 
do.     We  are  told   you  are  in  prison  ^  for  writing  not  only 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        65 

Jacobite  but  blackguard  verses  against  the  King.  Perhaps 
it  had  been  as  well  so.  Pain  is  a  hard  jailer,  and  a  prison 
might  have  saved  you  a  crutch.  But  forgive  me,  dear 
Burns,  and  don't  think  I  mean  to  insult  by  laughing  at  your 
low  spirits.  Nothing  is  farther  from  my  thoughts.  I  would 
only  divert  a  melancholy  which,  by  breathing  itself  in  a 
pun,  persuades  me  it  may  be  trifled  with  and  palliated 
without  being  so  irritated  as  to  become  incurable.  Yet 
the  whims  that  strike  the  sick  are  so  unaccountable  that  I 
confess  I  stand  in  awe  of  yours.  Don't  be  angry  at  my 
sending  you  this  trifle.  Remember,  you  began  it  yourself 
by  sending  me  your  own  head.  It  is  a  maxim  in  higher 
life  that  a  present  should  always  be  of  something  quite  use- 
less. I  did  not  like  to  seem  ungrateful,  and  I  could  think 
of  nothing  apparently  more  useless  to  you  than  a  purse.  I 
therefore  made  one,  and  having  heard  somebody  remark  it 
was  unlucky  to  get  an  empty  one,  wrap  it  up  with  the  single 
note  it  happened  at  the  moment  to  contain.  Should  this 
offend  you,  cast  it  from  you  by  the  first  opportunity,  and 
cast  with  it  every  propensity  to  misunderstand  the  goodwill 
of  your  friends  for  the  future. 

When  you  write  elegy  I  would  wish  it  on  my  chief  or 
your  friend — in  short  on  some  great,  some  rare  subject 
such  as  occurs  more  seldom  than  the  great  Jubilee.  'T  is 
hardly  credible  two  ^  in  one  year  should  employ  without 
degrading  the  first  pen  of  a  country.  Both  were  good  men, 
men  of  worth,  dear  to  their  friends,  nor  unnoted  by  their 
country ;  yet  't  is  piteous,  't  is  wondrous  piteous  if  both 
were  worthy  your  song,  and  both  are  gone  almost  together. 

I  don't  admire  the  word  "  bleaky."*  To  me  diminutives 
have  only  beauty  when  they  are  used  as  endearments ;  in 
all  other  cases  they  betray  a  poverty  of  language,  which  is 

VOL.   I.  — 5 


66  Correspondence  between 

obliged  to  borrow  a  syllable.  Now,  this  is  convicting  inno- 
cence itself  when  such  an  accusation  is  established  against 
you,  who  have  words  at  will  —  more  expressive  ones  too 
than  anybody  else.  I  hope  you  will  come  this  way  that 
you  may  defend  this  word  properly  in  person,  if  you  have 
aught  to  say  for  it.  If  not,  give  it  up  with  a  good  grace. 
Yet,  spite  of  the  cold  weather,  I  would  not  give  a  sixpence 
to  see  you  if  you  only  come  to  fetch  fire  as  you  did  before. 
But  I  beg,  if  anything  prevent  you,  that  you  will  let  me 
hear  how  you  are,  as  I  shall  really  be  interested  in  your 
health  and  happiness,  and  impatient  to  learn  the  return  of 
both.  May  all  your  woes  henceforth  be  feigned  ones,  and 
vanish  as  fast  as  they  can  black  your  paper,  for  that  itself 
is  sometimes  a  cure,  and  I  am  sure  I  should  think  the  more 
of  myself  as  long  as  I  lived  if  you  could  find  it  so  in  writing 
me.  I  shall  send  this  to  my  friend  Mr.  Kerr,  since  he  has 
found  you  out,  which  is  more  than  I  should  have  been  able 
to  do  without  his  help.  Adieu.  I  will  be  sorry  if  you  are 
limped  off  before  this  reach  you. 

Admit  those  dear  companions  of  your  youth  — 
Warm  unwarpt  Piety  and  simple  Truth  ; 
Those  humble  handmaids  plac'd  around  your  bed 
Bar  out  Remorse,  and  bind  the  aching  head. 

(i)   Dredgey,  from  dirge,  liquor  drunk  {inore  Sco- 
tico)  at  funerals. 

(2)  Burns  tradition  has  no  trace  of  this  extraor- 
dinary rumour. 

(3)  The  elegies  on  Sir  David  Hunter  Blair  and 
Lord  President  Dundas  were  products  of  this  year. 

(4)  The  word  occurs  in  the  first  line  of  the  poem 
"  On  the  Death  of  Lord  President  Dundas." 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        67 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

The  much-respected  Patroness  of  my  early  Muse  cer- 
tainly deserved  a  better  return  from  me  than  to  let  her 
excellent,  her  kind  letter  remain  so  long  unanswered.  Your 
elegant  epistle,  Madam,  and  your  very  handsome  present, 
as  handsomely  delivered,  struck  me  so  much,  that  I  im- 
mediately made  a  private  vow  to  give  you  a  few  verses  on 
the  subject ;  or  at  least,  write  you  such  a  Post-sheet  as 
would  be  a  pennyworth  at  sixpence.  I  have  failed  in  both. 
Some  important  business  respecting  my  future  days,  and  the 
miserable  dunning  and  plaguing  of  Creech,  has  busied  me 
till  I  am  good  for  nothing.  Your  criticisms  and  observations 
on  the  President's  Elegy  are  just.  I  am  sick  of  writing 
where  my  bosom  is  not  strongly  interested.  Tell  me  what 
you  think  of  the  following?  There  the  bosom  was  perhaps 
a  little  interested. 

Clarinda,  Mistress  of  my  soul.i 

The  measur'd  time  is  run  ! 
The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  Pole 

So  marks  his  latest  sun. 

To  what  dark  cave  of  frozen  night 

Shall  poor  Sylvander  hie  ? 
Depriv'd  of  thee,  his  life  and  light, 

The  sun  of  all  his  joy  ! 

We  part  —  but  by  these  precious  drops 

That  fill  thy  lovely  eyes ! 
No  other  light  shall  guide  my  steps 

Till  thy  bright  beams  arise. 

She,  the  fair  Sun  of  all  her  Sex, 

Has  blest  my  glorious  day  : 
And  shall  a  glimmering  Planet  fix 

My  worship  to  its  ray  ? 


68  Correspondence  between 

Mr.  Schetky,  the  celebrated  Musician,  has  done  these 
Unes  the  honor  of  setting  them  to  music.  The  following  is 
2ijeu  d' esprit  of  t'  other  day,  on  a  despairing  Lover  carrying 
me  to  see  his  Dulcinea. 

Anna,  thy  charms  my  bosom  fire,  ^ 

And  press  my  soul  with  care ; 
But  ah,  how  bootless  to  admire. 

When  fated  to  despair  ! 

Yet,  in  thy  presence,  lovely  Fair, 

To  hope  may  be  forgiven  ; 
For  sure  't  were  impious  to  despair, 

So  much  in  sight  of  Heaven  ! 

(i)  These  verses  were  written  to  Mrs.  Maclehose 
just  before  Burns  left  Edinburgh,  They  were  pub- 
lished by  both  Johnson  and  Thomson. 

(2)  The  despairing  lover  was  Alexander  Cunning- 
ham. The  lady  married  another  man,  and  Burns 
sent  the  verses  to  the  London  Star,  in  which  they 
were  published  on  i8th  April  1789.  Schetky  was 
a  German  (born  at  Darmstadt,  1740),  settled  as  a 
teacher  of  music  in  Edinburgh. 

Mrs.  DuNLOP  of  Dunlop, 

Dunlop-house,  Stewarton. 

Edinburgh,  \2th  February  1788. 
[Mutilated  half-sheet.] 

I  don't  know  whether  I  have  not,  sometime  or  other, 
sent  you  my  Epigram  on  Elphinstone's  translation  of,  and 
commentaries  on  Martial,  the  famous  Latin  Poet :  — 

To  Mr.  E. 

O  thou,  whom  Poesy  abhors  ; 
Whom  Prose  has  turned  out  of  doors  1 
Heardst  thou  yon  groan  ?  proceed  no  further  I  " 
'T  was  laurell'd  Martial  calling  Murther ! 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        69 

I  leave  Edinburgh  on  Saturday  morning.  If  my  horse 
meet  me  at  Glasgow,  I  will  probably  do  myself  the  honor 
of  calling  at  Dunlop-house. 

1*^  Some  things,  my  revered  Patroness,  in  your  late  letters 
hurt  me  :  not  that  you  say  them,  but  that  you  mistake  me. 
Religion,  my  honored  Madam,  has  not  only  been  all  my 
Hfe  my  chief  dependance,  but  my  dearest  enjoyment.  I 
have  indeed  been  the  luckless  victim  of  wayward  Follies ; 
but,  alas  !  I  have  ever  been  "  more  fool  than  knave."  A 
Mathematician  without  Religion  is  a  probable  character; 
an  irreligious  Poet,  is  a  Monster. 

I  have  been  lately  at  Lady  Wallace's,  and  was  delighted 
to  find  Miss  Dunlop  [probably  Susan]  a  daughter  of  the 
Mother ;  I  shall  call  there  again  ere  I  leave  town.  —  I  have 
the  honor  to  be,  Madam,  your  oblidged,  humble  servt. 

RoBT.  Burns. 

This  letter  is  docketed  in  the  MS.  "  good  —  fit  for 
publication,"  but  only  the  second  paragraph,  with 
the  words  "  my  revered  Patroness "  omitted,  was 
published  by  Currie  and  subsequent  biographers  and 
editors.  James  Elphinston  (i  721-1809),  a  native 
of  Edinburgh,  kept  a  boarding-school  at  Kensington, 
and  was  a  friend  of  Samuel  Johnson.  His  TJie  Epi- 
grams of  M.  Val.  Martial,  in  twelve  books,  with  a 
Comment,  by  James  Elphinston,  was  a  quarto  pub- 
lished in  London  in  1782.  Burns  wrote  this  quatrain 
—  so  he  told  Mrs.  Maclehose  in  a  letter  of  14th  Janu- 
ary of  this  year  —  in  a  copy  of  the  book  which  he 
glanced  at  in  a  merchant's  (Creech's)  shop  in  Edin- 
burgh.    This  volume    is  now  the    property  of  Mr. 


70  Correspondence  between 

Robert  Munro,  Ibrox,  Glasgow.     For  Lady  Wallace's 
house,  SQQ  posted,  p.  155. 

Burns  left  Edinburgh  on  the  i8th  of  February  for 
Glasgow,  where  he  stayed  overnight,  and  met  his 
friend  Richard  Brown.  On  the  following  day  he 
proceeded  to  Paisley,  and  thence  to  Dunlop  House, 
where  he  spent  two  days.  A  day  or  two  after,  prob- 
ably on  the  25th,  he  went  to  Ellisland  to  spy  out  the 
land,  and  returned  to  Mossgiel  on  the  2nd  or  3rd  of 
March. 

Ad.  Mr.  Rob't  Burns. 

Dunlop,  Tptk  Febry.  1788. 

Trusting  to  your  aversion  for  the  foppish  follies  fashion 
fetched  from  France,  I  flattered  myself  we  should  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  breakfast,  and  that  you  would 
also  have  despised  a  French  leave.  I  had  a  vision  ready 
for  your  morning  entertainment,  but  when  William  told  you 
had  been  gone  two  hours,  it  wholly  escaped  me  in  the  sur- 
prise and  disappointment,  except  four  lines,  which  I  shall 
send  you  as  a  specimen  that  you  may  not  break  your  heart 
for  the  loss  of  the  rest  of  it.     Methought  I  saw 

From  smuggling  cells  the  friend  of  honour  rise 
Borne  on  her  shield  in  triumph  through  th'  Excise, 
High  raised  above  on  fame  and  glory's  wings 
And  in  low  fellowship  of  gold  with  kings. 


I  cannot  send  for  your  books  without  returning  thanks 
for  the  loan.  I  was  once  going  to  have  sent  you  a  little 
novel  of  the  late  Duke  of  Orleans  [the  Regent] ,  not  for  its 
merit,  for  I  have  not  language  to  read  it  myself,  but  that 
you  might  have  amused  yourself  investigating  the  ladders 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        71 

by  which  great  men  mount  into  the  public  favour,  which 
would  often,  I  daresay,  be  found  much  too  short  for  lesser 
men  even  to  reach  their  own  approbation.  The  name  of 
it  is  Accajie  and  Zerphile.  Let  me  know  if  you  have  never 
seen  it,  or  the  Ikon  Basilike  of  King  Charles.  I  can  lend 
you  both,  but  would  rather  give  as  send  them.  Besides, 
when  you  find  a  convenient  time  to  get  this  length,  you 
will  see  Coila,^  who  is  much  grown  in  grace  and  stature 
since  she  appeared  last  to  you  here,  and  has  been  the  close 
occupation  of  the  lady  ever  since.  Now,  since  I  have  men- 
tioned French,  I  will  send  you  an  attempt  of  mine  in  that 
tongue  sent  one  day  to  one  of  my  boys  who  wanted  a  pair 
of  globes  from  me  along  with  them  :  — 

Une  mere  pour  plaire  a  ses  enfants 
Rumage  la  terra  pour  la  viande; 
Bon  bon  j'ecrach  entre  les  dents 
De  les  petit  hereux  gourmands. 
Un  spectacles  pour  le  folatre, 
Pour  les  brave  un  mock  combatre, 
Pour  la  mienne  je  suis  la  commandeuse 
D'un  entretien  plus  doux  ; 
Pouvez-vous  vous  defendre 
De  I'orquil  quand  je  rendre 
Dans  vos  main  cette  grand  transfere 
De  tout  les  cieux  et  toute  la  terre. 

You  will  not  think  I  stand  in  great  fear  of  your  critizism 
when  I  venture  to  show  you  such  trifles,  but  I  am  just  do- 
ing as  I  would  be  done  by.  Another  communication  too 
I  would  beg,  which  is  to  know  if  this  country  is  to  be  de- 
prived of  her  native  Bard,  or  where  you  expect  will  be  your 
destination.  I  hear  there  is  a  book  come  out  against  you, 
but  I  have  not  seen  it.  Perhaps  you  may  say  with  Solo- 
mon {sic),  "  Oh  that  mine  adversary  had  wrote  a  book  !  " 


72  Correspondence  between 

I  wrot  a  very  pretty  farewell  in  the  fear  you  were  about  to 
leave  us,  but  I  will  not  let  you  see  it  in  revenge  for  a  sar- 
casm you  threw  at  me  last  day.  Indeed  I  don't  like  sharp 
wit,  and  would  as  soon  try  the  edge  of  my  penknife  on  the 
throat  of  my  friend  as  my  metal  against  anybody  that  wished 
me  well.  This  is  not  your  way  of  thinking,  however,  or  I 
had  certainly  been  safe,  spite  of  the  refined  skill  you  say  I 
possess  in  Indian  tortures,  for  you  must  be  sensible  I  did 
not  mean  to  exercise  that  art  against  you,  so  needed  not 
have  avenged  yourself  five  or  six  hours  after  so  bitterly  as 
you  did.  Adieu.  —  Believe  nie  still,  with  very  great  esteem, 
your  obliged,  humble  servt.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Mrs.  Dunlop's  daughter  Rachel  was  painting 
a  sketch  of  Coila. 


To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

MossGlEL,  ^th  March  1788.1 

Madam, — The  last  paragraph  in  yours  of  the  30th  Feb- 
ruary affected  me  most,  so  I  shall  begin  my  answer  where 
you  ended  your  letter.  That  I  am  often  a  sinner  with  the 
little  wit  I  have,  I  do  confess  ;  but  I  have  taxed  my  recol- 
lection to  no  purpose  to  find  out  when  it  was  employed 
against  you.  I  hate  an  ungenerous  sarcasm  a  great  deal 
worse  than  I  do  the  devil;  at  least  as  Milton  describes 
him ;  and  though  I  may  be  rascally  enough  to  be  some- 
times guilty  of  it  myself,  I  cannot  endure  it  in  others.  You, 
my  honored  friend,  who  cannot  appear  in  any  light  but  you 
are  sure  of  being  respectable  —  you  can  afford  to  pass  by 
an  occasion  to  display  your  wit,  because  you  may  depend 
for  fame  on  your  sense  ;  or  if  you  chuse  to  be  silent,  you 
know  you  can  rely  on  the  gratitude  of  many  and  the  esteem 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        'ji^ 


of  all  j  but  God  help  us  who  are  wits  or  witlings  by  profes- 
sion, if  we  stand  not  for  fame  there,  we  sink  unsupported  ! 

I  am  highly  flattered  by  the  news  you  tell  me  of  Coila. 
I  may  say  to  the  fair  painter  who  does  me  so  much  honor, 
as  Dr.  Beattie  says  to  Ross  the  poet  of  his  muse  Scota,  from 
which,  by  the  bye,  I  took  the  idea  of  Coila  ('tis  a  poem 
of  Seattle's  in  the  Scots  dialect,'^  which  perhaps  you  have 
never  seen)  : 

Ye  shak  your  head,  but,  o'  my  fegs,  shake,  by  my  faith 

Ye  've  set  auld  Scota  on  her  legs : 

Lang  had  she  lien  wi'  buffs  and  flegs,  endured,  blows,  kicks 

Bombaz'd  and  dizzie,  stupefied 

Her  fiddle  wanted  strings  and  pegs, 

Waes  me,  poor  hizzie  ! 

(i)  Burns  wrote  other  three  letters  on  this  date  — 
one  to  Mrs.  Maclehose,  one  to  Robert  Muir,  and  the 
third  to  Richard  Brown. 

(2)  "To  Mr.  Alexander  Ross,  at  Lochlee,  author 
of '  The  Fortunate  Shepherdess  and  other  Poems  in 
the  Broad  Scotch  Dialect.'  " 

On  the  14th,  the  date  of  Mrs.  Dunlop's  next  letter, 
Burns  was  again  in  Edinburgh.  On  the  13th,  as  he 
wrote  to  Miss  Chalmers,  he  "  compleated  a  bargain 
with  Mr.  Miller  of  Dalswinton  for  the  farm  of 
Ellisland." 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 
Mr.  Crouch's,!  Master  of  the  Gramer  School,  Edinburgh. 

\i^h  March  1788. 

Dr.  Sir,  —  The  Saturday  after  you  left  this  I  sent  for 
and  got  the  books.  I  have  been  so  busy  sewing  for  my 
little  (expected)   grandchild  that  I  have  hardly  been  able 


74  Correspondence  between 

to  steal  a  moment  to  spend  with  the  Fairies.  However 
dehghtful  Spenser's  imagination,  he  is  often  so  very  outray 
and  extravagant  it  becomes  disgusting,  and  often  in  the 
finest  descriptions  some  ridiculous  circumstance  spoils  the 
whole.  As,  for  instance,  how  do  you  like  the  well  and 
the  tree  in  the  battle  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon?  One 
might  have  overlooked  the  one,  but  it  is  impossible  to  keep 
your  temper  with  both.  At  least  I  'm  sure  I  wished  poor 
George  had  been  let  sleep  both  nights  quietly  abed  like 
other  people,  since  he  could  be  no  better  disposed  of. 
But  I  have  given  you  my  thoughts  on  this  subject  apart, 
instead  of  the  Vision  you  ask,  which,  like  your  own,  "  fled 
like  a  passing  thought,"  but  not  "  in  light  away ;  "  on  the 
contrary  into  impenetrable  darkness,  from  whence  it  can  no 
more  be  retrieved.  You  embarrass  me  by  your  kind  present 
of  Gray  to  Keith.^  It  has  always  been  a  rule  of  mine, 
transmitted  me  by  my  father,  not  to  allow  any  of  my  girls 
to  accept  any  present  while  under  my  direction.  Yet 
Nature  in  the  formation  of  a  poet  seems  to  understand  an 
exception  to  general  rules,  and  if  you  insist  on  it,  I  think  in 
this  particular  instance  I  must  follow  her  example,  but  it 
would  be  more  agreeable  to  me  would  you  consent  to  her 
only  keeping  the  leaf  she  likes  best,  and  returning  the  rest, 
which  you  cannot  value  the  less  for  having  been  a  while  in 
the  possession  of  a  young  lady  to  whom  your  favourable 
introduction  has  so  much  recommended  the  author  that 
I  daresay  in  a  few  days  she  will  be  able  to  repeat  the  whole 
work,  and  I  am  sure  will  never  forget  to  whom  she  was 
indebted  for  it.  Coila  will  be  finished  in  two  days  longer, 
and  I  flatter  myself  you  will  have  pleasure  in  beholding 
her  charms,  but  Rachel  says  it  is  impossible  she  should 
please  you,  even  should  she  be  able  to  succeed  with  others, 


Robert  Burns/and  Mrs.  Dunlop        y ^ 

for  she  must  look  so  mv(ch  worse  than  when  you  saw  her 
last  by  the  ingle  low/ [chimney  flame]  that  you  will  be 
quite  shocked  at  the  change.  Nor  has  she  a  hope  that 
either  her  colours  or  fancy  can  reach  the  delicate  rouge  of 
poetic  painting  by  the  masterly  hand  that  arrayed  her  for 
visiting  at  the  auld  clay  biggin.  However,  spite  of  this 
despair,  she  has  done  her  very  best  not  to  disgrace  her 
subject,  and  I  beg  you  may  come  and  pass  judgment  as 
you  come  out.  Indeed,  'twas  to  entreat  this  favour  I 
trouble  you  with  a  letter,  as  I  am  all  impatience  to  hear  the 
sequel  of  your  business  before  either  you  or  I  leave  the 
country.  I  believed  before  I  read  your  last  that  your  good 
sense  had  conquered  my  prejudices,  and,  as  Jenny  says  in 
The  Gentle  Shepherd,^  forced  me  to  quit  the  field,  but 
although  I  had  wished  a  piece  bit  off  the  tongue  that  I 
feared  had  left  a  thorn  in  my  neighbour's  heart,  the  moment 
I  seized  the  idea  you  threw  out  of  remaining  uncertainty  I 
felt  an  animating  joy  at  it  that  proved  how  much  I  still 
unwittingly  retained  my  former  opinion.  Indeed,  if  you 
will  believe  me,  it  was  five  minutes  before  I  ever  once 
recollected  that  the  farm  was  not  in  Ayrshire.  This,  in- 
deed, when  it  occurred,  was  a  cruel  danger,  a  sad  postscript 
to  the  flattering  line  which  so  pleasingly  reminds  me  of  a 
promise  I  never  could  have  the  audacity  to  make  of  con- 
tinuing to  write  you.  Take  my  honest  word  ;  I  consider 
your  correspondence  as  an  acquisition  for  which  mine  can 
make  no  return,  as  a  commerce  in  which  I  alone  am  the 
gainer;  the  sight  of  your  hand  gives  me  inexpressible 
pleasure,  and  will  even  do  so  should  it  be  armed  with  the 
Gunter's  scale.*  For  all  I  said  there  are  minds  capable  of 
sanctifying  any  profession.  Nay,  who  ever  read  Tom  Jones 
but  felt  that  there  are  even  reasons  that  vindicate  a  man's 


76  Correspondence  between 

embracing  that  of  a  highwayman,  and  where  he  seems  to 
ennoble  it.  Yet  how  should  I  be  enchanted  with  this 
charming  farm  were  it  but  in  our  own  country !  But  in 
all  events  I  fear  we  lose  you. 

Farewell  the  friend  endowed  with  heavenly  song, 

Whose  gentle  manners  grace  the  rural  throng, 

The  patriot  Bard  whose  independent  ease 

And  native  dignity  must  always  please ; 

Bold  chalk'd  by  Nature  when  she  sketch'd  her  plan. 

Strong  mark'd  to  shine  distinguish'd  in  the  van. 


I  think  it  was  Charles  the  Fifth  who,  about  to  hang  a 
bishop,  previously  knelt  for  his  blessing,  then  wrot  the  Pope 
that  he  revered  the  monk  and  only  executed  the  man. 

Should  you  prolong  your  stay  in  town,  or  not  come  this 
way,  I  beg  a  single  line  whenever  the  lot  is  cast  in  your 
business.  Besides,  I  will  be  a  little  concerned  to  know  if 
my  wanderer  reach  you  safe,  for,  as  you  will  remark,  I  am 
"n?>  Jacobite ;  I  would  not  like  to  give  room  to  the  narrow- 
minded  to  believe  I  was  one.  I  likeways  wish  to  ask  you  a 
question  about  your  sister.  Your  hurry,  I  believe,  made 
you  forget  about  John  Woodburn,^  and  I  am  afraid  my  son 
may  be  sailed  before  I  can  get  his  letters.  I  should  be 
sorry  to  miss  a  possible  chance  of  serving  so  worthy  a  man 
as  you  speak  him  to  be,  or  not  to  make  myself  happy  in 
telling  and  his  brother  in  hearing  his  worth  so  well  vouched 
for.  Adieu.  Yet  you  see  I  am  resolved  not  to  bid  you 
farewell ;   indeed  I  should  lose  too  much  by  it. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  It  has  not  been  known  hitherto  where  Burns 
stayed  during  this  short  visit  to  Edinburgh.  Nothing 
is  known  of  Crouch. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        'j'j 


(2)  Mrs.  Dunlop's  youngest  daughter. 

(3)  Allan  Ramsay's  Gentle  Shepherd. 

(4)  A  mensuration  chain,  66  feet  long,  with    lOO 

links. 

(5)  Mrs.  Dunlop's  youngest  and  favourite  son, 
Anthony,  was  about  to  sail  for  the  East,  and  it  had 
apparently  been  arranged  that  he  should  take  out 
letters  to  Captain  Woodburn  (see  ante,  p.  8)  from 
a  brother  whom  Burns  knew  and  of  whom  he  thought 
highly. 


Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 
Dunlop  House,  Stewarton. 


Ayr,  26ik  March  1788. 


"  Speak,  sister,  is  the  deed  done  ?" 
"  Long  ago,  long  ago,  long  ago ; 
Above  twelve  glasses  since  have  run." 

I  have  at  last,  my  honored  Friend,  entered  in  the  list  of 
Country  farmers.  I  returned  from  Edinburgh  on  Saturday 
last,  with  my  tack  [lease]  in  my  pocket ;  and  since  that 
time,  I  assure  you,  cares  and  business  have  occupied  my 
every  moment.  I  have  talked  fondly  of  magnanimous 
resolution  and  persevering  firmness,  but  every  Declaimer 
talks  of  them :  I  wish  to  prove  my  claim  to  them  by 
exertion.  I  have  given  up  all  literary  correspondence,  all 
conversation,  all  reading  (prose-reading)  that  is  of  the 
evapourating,  dissipating  kind.  My  favorite  quotation  now, 
for  I  always  have  one,  is  from  Young  — 

On  Reason  build  Resolve ; 
That  column  of  true  majesty  in  Man. 

I  know  you  will  be  pleased  with  this ;  but  were  you  as  weak 
as  most  of  the  family  of  the'  Muses,  you  would  be  more 


yS  Correspondence  between 


pleased  with  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  I  was  one  day, 
last  time  I  was  in  Edinburgh,  with  Mr.  M'Kenzie,  the  glori- 
ous Man  of  Feeling ;  and  among  other  things,  I  read  him 
such  of  your  pieces  as  I  thought  proper,  such  of  them  as 
were  quite  general  (they  were  the  two  I  got  from  you  when 
I  last  had  the  honor  of  being  your  guest)  and  he  passed 
the  highest  encomiums  on  them.  He  warmly  begged  leave 
to  read  them  to  Mrs.  M'Kenzie,  whose  judgement  he  very 
deservedly  highly  values,  and  she  admired  them  so  much 
that  she  anxiously  wished  a  copy ;  but  this  I  positively  de- 
clined. If  I  had  the  pieces  about  me,  I  would  mention  to 
you  the  most  admired  lines. 

My  letters,  for  some  time  to  come,  will  be  miserable 
scraps,  and  will  not  be  worth  half  a  glance  except  to  such 
as  you  who  honor  me  so  much  in  interesting  yourself  in  all 
that  concerns  me. 

My  most  respectful  compliments  to  all  your  family ;  the 
kind  Tutoress  of  my  friend  Coila,  deserves  my  particular 
acknowledgements.  The  happiest  night  by  much,  of  all  I 
spent  last  in  Edinburgh  was  one  at  Lady  Wallace's.  —  I 
have  the  honor  to  be,  Madam,  your  ever  grateful  humble 
servt.  RoBT.  Burns. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns,  at  Mossgill, 
near  Mauchlin. 

DuNLOP  \end  of  March  178S]. 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  had  heard  of  your  transaction  about  the 
farm  before  I  was  favoured  with  your  letter.  Indeed,  I  was 
afraid  you  had  been  going  to  give  me  up,  among  your  liter- 
ary correspondents,  which  would  have  vext  me  very  much, 
as  I  can  honestly  assure  you  it  exalts  me  in  my  own  esteem 
to  believe  you  find  anything  in  my  letters  worth  your  while 
to  purchase  at  the  expense  of  writing  me  again,  while  yours 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        70 

are  to  me  an  interesting  and  delightful  amusement  which  I 
would  in  vain  attempt  to  equal  elsewhere. 

I  congratulate  you  on  the  step  you  have  taken.  I  am 
sure  it  renders  you  truely  estimable  and  respectable,  and  I 
trust,  with  the  steady  perseverance  so  manly  a  character 
seems  to  insure,  will  make  you  independent  and  happy  in 
the  possession  of  an  easie  competence,  and  as  much  leizure 
amid  rural  scenes  as,  with  what  you  have  now  seen  of  the 
world,  will  enable  you  to  write  as  you  could  never  have 
hoped  to  do  in  the  former  line  purposed  for  your  pursuit, 
nor  in  the  City  of  Edr.  itself,  in  any  situation  into  which 
you  might  have  been  thrust  by  your  friends,  I  hope  you 
will  not  neglect  the  farm  so  far  as  to  make  you  poor,  and  I 
trust  your  cultivation  of  the  IMuses  shall  one  day  make  you 
rich,  for,  if  ever  you  are  so,  I  daresay,  like  the  silk-worm, 
you  must  spin  it  out  of  yourself  rather  than  gather  it  up 
from  Mr.  Miller's  ground,  which,  however,  may  form  a  suc- 
cedaneum  in  the  meantime,  and  foster  up  patience  till 
something  else  is  got  ready.  I  observ^e  it  is  only  prose 
reading  you  determine  to  renounce  ;  allow  me  therefore  to 
recommend  a  few  poetic  friends  as  an  evening  solace  in 
your  retirement.  Sorry  I  am  it  must  be  so  distant  a  one 
as  almost  precludes  all  hope  of  seeing  you  hereafter  :  yet 
let  me  beg  a  parting  visit  at  least,  before  you  leave  Ayr- 
shire for  Hfe,  an  event  I  look  forward  to  with  extreme  re- 
gret. If  you  can  come  here  any  time  before  Sunday  come 
eight  day,  and  pass  a  day  or  two  conveniently  for  yourself, 
you  will  see  Coila,  I  hope,  such  as  you  would  wish  her,  and 
you  will  see  me,  to  whom  your  visit  will  be  a  most  accept- 
able compliment.  But  should  this  not  be  in  your  power, 
I  shall  dine  at  Mount  by  Kilmarnock  with  the  old  Major  ^ 
on  Sunday  after  next  to  bid  him  adieu  before  I  set  out  for 


8o  Correspondence  between 


the  east  country,  and  I  will  take  the  liberty  to  invite  you  to 
make  one  of  the  party  which  chance  may  assemble  there  at 
that  time.  I  shall  in  driving  through  Kilmarnock  leave  at 
Wilson's  2  for  you  Pope's  Homer,  Dryden's  Virgil,  and 
Hoole's  Tasso,  which  I  beg  leave  to  present  as  agreeable 
remembrances  of  myself,  that  you  may  sometimes  when  far 
away  at  sight  of  them  think  of  writing  me.  The  last  is  my 
greatest  favourite,  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  procure  a 
clean  copy  of  it,  nor  in  pocket  volumes  as  I  would  have 
wished,  so  that  it  might  have  gone  with  you  to  the  field, 
or  wherever  you  went.  Indeed  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken if  you  believe  I  am  pleased  at  your  rehearsal  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Mackenzie.  Their  applause  was  a  thing  in  course, 
and  only  compliment  to  you  at  any  rate.  As  Mr.  Wilkie 
says  to  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  your  own  approbation  is  just 
enough  for  me  in  the  rhyming  way,  and  I  never  desire  to 
aspire  at  any  other.  As  for  censure,  "  What  you  applauded 
Envy  durst  not  blame,"  so  that  I  am  not  even  flattered  by 
this  praise,  and  your  reading  anything  I  write  to  other  peo- 
ple may  prevent  my  prattling  with  the  careless  pleasure  I 
have  formerly  done  to  your  indulgent  eye,  for  which  I  write 
the  following  lines,  meaning  them  for  the  first  leaf  of  Tasso's 
"Jerusalem  "  — 

In  Bourbon's  Isle  a  far-famed  garden  lies, 

Cloth'd  with  each  growth  the  varied  world  supplys ; 


Pleased  I  select  the  moss  rose  of  the  West; 
Proud  see  your  hand  Old  Scota's  breast  adorn 
With  this  fair  flourish  of  her  native  thorn. 

It  will  really  disappoint  me  grievously  if  you  don't  come 
here,  or  at  least  to  the  Major's.     Both  I  should  like  best, 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        8 1 

but  will  prefer  either  to  neither.  Besides  that  you  will,  I 
am  sure,  like  to  see  Coila,  at  which  the  lady  is  still  close  at 
work.  Remember  you  promised  me  your  address  to  the 
wild  ducks.3  Might  I  beg  you  would  let  me  look  at  the 
tragedy  you  told  me  you  had  once  schemed.  I  will  be  a 
very  hard  critic  on  anything  on  that  subject,  but  I  don't 
think  you  need  be  afraid  to  show  me  the  verses  on  Miss 
Alexander.  I  really  wish  much  to  see  them.  How  your 
compliments  are  sometimes  lost,  and  how  I  envied  one  of 
them  !  If  ever  my  picture  is  painted  on  earth,  it  shall  be 
in  the  character  of  Old  Scotia  calling  Fame  to  hand  on  my 
poor  little  Sandie  Wallace  *  to  the  top  of  the  old  ruinous 
Castle  of  Craigie,  but  I  am  glad  my  paper  is  done  since  I 
have  got  there ;  't  is  a  miserable  key  for  me  to  write  on. 
Adieu.  I  send  compts.  from  all ;  "  Cela  va  sans  dire,"  and 
I  always  forget  to  write  them.  —  Believe  me,  with  great 
affection,  your  obliged  and  obedient  humble  sert. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Perhaps  Major  Alexander  Dunlop,  her 
brother-in-law,  who  commanded  the  Enniskillens 
at   Carthagena. 

(2)  Wilson  was  the  printer  of  the  Kilmarnock 
edition. 

(3)  "  On  Scaring  some  Water-Fowl  In  Loch 
Turit."  A  holograph  MS.  in  the  Lochryan  collec- 
tion. 

(4)  John  Alexander  Agnew  Wallace,  her  grand- 
son, second  son  and  successor  of  Sir  Thomas.  The 
old  lady  cherished  a  dream  of  the  restoration  of  her 
paternal  estate  to  the  family. 

VOL.  I.  —  6 


82  Correspondence  between 

Ad.  Mrs.  DUNLOP  of  Dunlop, 
Dunlop  House,  Stewarton. 

Mauchline,  :^\st  March  1788. 

I  am  truly  sorry  to  tell  you,  Madam,  that  I  fear  it  will 
not  be  in  my  power  to  meet  you  at  the  Mount  on  Sunday. 
To  come  to  Dunlop  is  impracticable ;  but  I  would  earnestly 
wish,  and  will  try  to  meet  you  at  the  old  Major's. 

If  you  go  on,  Madam,  in  the  same  style  of  compliment- 
ing me  on  the  pleasure  my  correspondence  gives  you,  you 
will  bar  my  pen  altogether. 

Now  that  I  am  often  "  craz'd  with  care,"  my  letters  will  be 

Like  a  twice-told  tale, 

Vexing  the  dull  ear  of  a  drowsy  man.  .  .  . 

I  claim  the  kind  promise  of  your  correspondence  as  a 
priviledge,  as  an  honor ;  and  am  never  better  pleased  than 
when  I  see  a  letter  from  you,  wrote  out  till  there  is  hardly 
blank  paper  enough  to  close  it. 

The  Poems  I  promised  you,  I  must  confess  debt  and 
crave  days.  Till  Whitsunday  I  shall  be  immersed  in  busi- 
ness, partly  my  own,  and  partly  on  account  of  some  near 
and  dear  friends,  that  I  will  not  have  a  spare  moment. 

I  will  not  speak  a  word  about  your  present  of  the  books. 
Your  kindness  has  already  exhausted  my  every  various 
expression  of  gratitude ;  and  for  this  last  instance,  I  am 
determined  to  be  silent  till  I  tax  my  invention  for  something 
new  to  say  on  the  subject. 

I  much  fear  I  will  not  be  able  to  meet  you  on  Sunday, 
but  I  '11  try.  —  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  most  gratefully, 
Madam,  your  oblidged,  humble   servt.       Robt.  Burns. 

Burns  had  now^  settled  in  Ayrshire  to  learn  the  du- 
ties of  an  exciseman,  the  order  for  which  was  issued 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        83 

by  the  Board  of  Excise  to  an  officer  at  Tarbolton  on 
31st  March.  His  intention  was  to  finish  his  pupilage 
before  entering  on  his  farm  on  25th  May. 

Mrs.  Dunlop  about  this  time  proceeded  to  Had- 
dington to  stay  with  her  son  (Captain  John)  and  his 
wife,  who  resided  there  till  their  home  at  Morham 
Mains  was  ready  for  occupation. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

Mosegill,  near  Mauchline. 

Haddington,  tbth  Apl.  1788. 
[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinr.,  Twenty-first  April  1788.] 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  was  sorry  your  business  prevented  your 
coming  to  pass  two  or  three  days  at  our  house,  where  all 
the  family  are  so  truly  sensible  to  your  merit,  and  happy  in 
your  company,  but  most  sensibly  mortified  at  your  not  wish- 
ing to  make  a  stretch  to  dine  at  the  Mount,  on  a  day  when 
business  could  not  intervene,  and  when  I  had  let  you  know 
I  was  to  be  of  the  party,  and  you  could  have  no  doubt  how 
much  your  being  another  would  to  me  have  increased  the 
pleasure  of  the  visit.  Nay,  when  I  had  told  you  it  was  a 
farewell  one,  and  that  I  was  leaving  our  side  of  the  country 
for  a  time  that  left  me  no  prospect  of  finding  you  in  Ayr- 
shire at  my  return,  I  'm  sure  it  would  have  been  a  very 
great  inconvenience  indeed  that  would  have  made  me 
decline  the  pleasure  of  passing  perhaps  the  last  day  fortune 
would  ever  throw  in  my  power  with  a  friend,  who  I  knew 
sincerely  wished  it,  and  who  omitted  no  occasion  of  telling 
me  so  :  but  I  don't  know  if  that  is  the  right  way  of  going  to 
work  with  you  men,  who  are  generally  most  negligent  in 
your  attentions  where  you  already  know  they  are  very  much 
valued.  But  I  need  say  no  more.  I  am  now  at  fourscore 
miles  distance,  probably  never  to  be  nearer  you  again,  and 


84  Correspondence  between 

I  will  indulge  myself  in  believing  you  have  repented  what 
you  can  no  longer  help.  It 's  the  only  time  I  ever  wished 
an  uneasie  idea  to  come  across  you,  but  for  once  I  would 
be  gratified  by  knowing,  as  you  say  yourself,  that  conscience 
had  blackguarded  you  and  spit  in  your  face  for  not  behav- 
ing more  kindly  to  me  than  you  did  in  this  instance. 
However,  as  my  goodwill  is  founded  on  my  admiration  and 
esteem  of  your  sentiments  and  writings,  although  gratitude 
must  have  greatly  increast  it,  neglect  cannot  diminish,  much 
less  erase  it ;  nor  shall  the  wound  given  my  pride  prevent 
my  professing  myself  as  warmly  your  friend  as  ever,  tho' 
you  have  checkt  that  vanity  which  might  have  been  flat- 
tered by  believing  you  in  some  degree  mine.  I  met  the 
other  day  coming  here  from  Edr.  a  young  man  who  seemed 
so  fond  of  you  that  I  was  sorry  to  part  from  him ;  he  told 
me  some  of  your  correspondents,  and  dwelt  on  every  cir- 
cumstance in  which  you  were  interested  with  apparent 
delight  that  shortened  the  road  much  to  me ;  I  don't  know, 
but  I  suspect,  his  name  was  Ainslie.^  I  daresay,  however, 
you  know  him,  and  I  should  suppose  he  knows  you  too, 
better  than  you  will  allow  me  to  do,  if  you  always  are  as 
ready  to  let  slip  the  times  that  might  improve  our  acquaint- 
ance, or  let  you  know  I  was  not  worthy  of  the  honour  of 
yours  —  a  secret  I  am  half  afraid  you  have  already  discov- 
ered, or  you  would  not  have  preferred  Mr.  Auld  to  me,  that 
Sunday  when  I  wished  you  to  desert  church,  and  charitably 
come  where  you  would  have  been  able  to  contribute  both 
to  the  happiness  and  improvement  of  your  neighbours. 
Besides,  you  did  not  know  what  trouble  I  took  for  your 
entertainment.  Coila  sat  on  my  lap  all  the  journey  hooped 
in  glass,  and  a  very  tender  charge  she  was,  I  assure  you, 
and  one  I  grudge  taking  when  I  found  it  was  to  no  purpose. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        85 

I  fretted  at  her  company  all  the  way  home  again,  and  on 
Tuesday  set  off  for  this  place,  where  in  all  probability  I 
may  be  kept  till  after  midsummer.  Meanwhile  I  would  not 
have  disturbed  your  hurry  of  business  with  this  intrusion, 
had  I  not  been  afraid,  if  you  left  Ayrshire  before  my  return, 
I  should  never  have  it  in  my  power  to  write  you  again,  as 
not  knowing  your  future  address,  or  whether  your  whole 
family  removed  along  with  you,  and  prevented  my  even 
sending  a  line  to  your  brother's  care  after  you  were  gone. 
It 's  a  strange  reason,  but  a  very  natural  one,  I  believe,  for 
a  man.  You  say  your  pen  will  be  stopt  by  my  expressing 
the  pleasure  I  have  in  your  correspondence.  This  will 
indeed  be  very  cross,  but  cannot  prevent  my  pleasing  my- 
self by  frequently  writing  you,  even  should  I  never  send  my 
scrawls  your  length.  You  told  me  you  liked  rhyme.  I  felt 
that  when  you  wrot  I  liked  it  too,  and  so  I  fell  a-chiming 
words ;  just  like  an  ugly  woman  who  sees  a  new  cap  look 
well  on  a  beauty,  and  forgets  but  what  it  should  become 
her  too,  nor  can  even  a  sight  of  herself  in  the  glass  remove 
her  error,  but  she  exhibits  a  view  of  her  cap  and  her  folly 
to  others,  as  I  have  done  of  my  water-gruel  lays  to  you,  till 
I  doubt  you  are  sick  of  both  them  and  I.  Yet  as  I  am 
living  in  a  farmer's  house,  that  very  circumstance  recalls 
you  to  my  mind,  and  adds  fervour  to  my  wishes  that  it  may 
ever  prove  a  scene  of  inspiration  and  happiness,  unrepining 
ease  and  independence  to  you,  as  well  as  to  those  with 
whom  I  inhabit  at  present.  Should  it  turn  out  the  seat  of 
disappointment  and  regret  to  either  you  or  them,  I  'm  sure 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  guess  how  much  it  would 
break  in  upon  my  tranquillity  to  know  the  melancholy  truth, 
though  I  should  still  like  that  confidence  which  allowed  me 
to  participate  even  the  bitter  cup  allotted  for  my  friends. 


86  Correspondence  between 

But  let  me  not  anticipate  what  I  hope  is  not  in  fate ;  but 
rather  fill  my  paper,  since  you  like  it  blackened  all  over, 
with  rhymes  suggested  by  reading  some  poetry  very  full  of 
pompous  machinery,  and  supposing  you  had  presented  it  to 
some  of  your  fair  friends  to  whom  you  seem  inclinable  to 
introduce  the  poetic  merit  of  others  as  well  as  your  own. 

With  flaming  fancy  and  in  florid  stile 
When  wit  addrest  the  beauties  of  our  Isle 
And  art  was  taxt  with  elegance  to  tell 
What  virtue  most  all  others  could  excell : 


I  shall  also  transcribe  a  letter  T  wrot  the  other  day  to  a 
friend  of  mine  who,  I  believe  partly  to  provoke  me,  said 
there  had  been  no  poet  in  the  British  dominions  since  Pope, 
nor  would  ever  be  another ;  that  poesy  was  at  a  poor  pitch, 
the  Muse  of  England  a  milkmaid,  Ireland  a  cook,  and 
Scotland  a  plowman,  and  concluded  by  running  down  the 
productions  of  the  two  pens  he  thought  I  took  most  interest 
in,  yours  and  Moore's  Travels.  I  was  not  pleased,  and  it 
was  thus  I  told  it :  — 

To  you  Dr.  K  ...  y  I  point  these  lays 

Howe'er  Dan  Pope  has  huckster'd  all  your  praise, 

Sure  though  your  friend  should  write  a  sacred  book, 

You  'd  rank  it  with  the  milkmaid  or  the  cook  ; 

For  with  the  plowman  I  dare  not  compare 

Th'  unrivalled  glory  of  the  Shire  of  Air. 


If  you  find  leisure  or  inclination  to  write  me,  address  for 
me  at  Haddington,  and  if  you  wish  me  to  write,  send  me 
your  address  in  future. 

You  see  I  have,  according  to  custom,  scrawled  over  my 
paper.  You  will  hardly  believe  I  am  a  negligent  corre- 
spondent to  all  the  world,  and  my  very  best  friends  find 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        87 

great  fault  with  me  on  this  score.  I  suspect  you  would  be 
glad  I  gave  them  more  and  you  less  of  my  ink,  but  I  wish 
you  would  take  revenge  in  kind,  and  study  what  you  say  as 
little  as  I  do.  If  you  write  with  as  good  will,  it  can  cost 
you  nothing.  I  hope  you  got  the  books  safe,  and  find 
pleasure  in  reading  them.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  your 
comments  on  them  and  me  too,  if  you  please,  if  you  will 
just  say  only  what  you  think,  instead  of  thinking  what  you 
shall  say.  I  expect  this  will  cost  you  nothing  but  the  trou- 
ble of  reading,  which  to  a  man  of  business  no  doubt  will  be 
very  dear  postage,  perhaps  more  than  you  will  ever  pay. 
Should  you  never  get  down  this  length,  you  cannot  guess 
how  sincerely  I  am,  dr.  sir,  your  much  obliged  friend  and 
humble  servt.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

I  have  your  Faery  Queen  here.  I  don't  know  how  I 
shall  contrive  to  get  her  returned  ;  you  must  instruct  me. 
I  never  read  her  with  pleasure  before.  I  think  you  have 
taught  me  to  understand  Spenser,  and  I  thank  you  for  that 
and  all  the  superiour  poetic  pleasures  for  which  I  am  your 
debtor.     Adieu. 

(i)  In  all  probability  Robert  Ainslie,  the  lawyer's 
apprentice,  with  whom  Burns  had  become  intimate 
in  Edinburgh  in  the  spring  of  1787. 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Mauchline,  2%th  April  1788. 

Madam,  —  Your  powers  of  reprehension  must  be  great 
indeed,  as  I  assure  you  they  made  my  heart  ache  with 
penitential  pangs,  even  though  I  was  really  not  guilty.  As 
I  commence  farmer  at  Whitsunday,  you  will  easily  guess 
I  must  be  pretty  busy ;  but  that  is  not  all.     As  I  got  the 


88  Correspondence  between 

offer  of  the  Excise  business  without  soHcitation;  and  as 
it  costs  me  only  six  weeks'  attendance  for  instruction,  to 
entitle  me  to  commission,  which  commission  lies  by  me, 
and  at  any  future  period,  on  my  simple  petition,  can  be 
resumed ;  I  thought  five  and  thirty  pounds  a  year  was  no 
bad  dernier  ressort  for  a  poor  poet,  if  fortune  in  her  jade 
tricks  should  kick  him  down  from  the  little  eminence  to 
which  she  has  lately  helped  him  up. 

For  this  reason,  I  am  at  present  attending  these  instruc- 
tions, to  have  them  completed  before  Whitsunday.  Still, 
madam,  I  prepared  with  the  sincerest  pleasure  to  meet  you 
at  the  Mount,  and  came  to  my  brother's  on  Saturday  night 
to  set  out  on  Sunday;  but  for  some  nights  preceding  I 
had  slept  in  an  apartment  where  the  force  of  the  winds 
and  the  rains  was  only  mitigated  by  being  sifted  through 
numberless  apertures  in  the  windows,  walls,  etc.  In  con- 
sequence I  was  on  Sunday,  Monday,  and  part  of  Tuesday 
unable  to  stir  out  of  bed,  with  all  the  miserable  effects  of 
a  bad  cold. 

You  see,  madam,  the  truth  of  the  French  maxim,  Le  vrai 
rC est  pas  toujoitrs  le  vrai-semblable ;  your  last  was  so  full 
of  expostulation,  and  was  something  so  like  the  language  of 
an  offended  friend,  that  I  began  to  tremble  for  a  corre- 
spondence, which  I  had  with  grateful  pleasure  set  down  as 
one  of  the  greatest  enjoyments  of  my  future  life.  .  .  . 

Your  books  have  delighted  me :  Virgil,  Dryden,  and 
Tasso  were  all  equally  strangers  to  me ;  but  of  this  more  at 
large  in  my  next.  R.  B. 

The  above  letter  is  of  the  same  date  as  that  in 
which  Burns  made  the  first  mention  (to  James 
Smith)  of  his  acknowledgment  of  Jean  Armour   as 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        89 

his  wife.  It  is  possible  that  the  marriage  had  at 
least  as  much  to  do  with  his  failure  to  meet  Mrs. 
Dunlop  at  the  Mount  as  the  cold  which  laid  him  up 
at  Mossgiel  (note  the  allusion  to  "  near  and  dear 
friends"  in  his  letter  of  31st  March).  From  motives 
which  are  explained  below  (p.  95),  he  breathed  no 
word  of  the  momentous  step  he  had  taken  in  any 
of  his  letters  of  the  subsequent  month  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop. 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Mauchline,  ^th  May  1788. 

Madam,  —  Dryden's  Virgil  has  delighted  me.  I  do 
not  know  whether  the  critics  will  agree  with  me,  but  the 
Georgics  are  to  me  by  far  the  best  of  Virgil.  It  is  indeed 
a  species  of  writing  entirely  new  to  me,  and  has  filled  my 
head  with  a  thousand  fancies  of  emulation ;  but  alas ! 
when  I  read  the  Georgics,  and  then  survey  my  own  powers, 
't  is  like  the  idea  of  a  Shetland  pony  drawn  up  by  the  side 
of  a  thorough-bred  hunter  to  start  for  the  plate.  I  own  I 
am  disappointed  in  the  ALneid.  Faultless  correctness  may 
please,  and  does  highly  please,  the  lettered  critic ;  but  to 
that  aweful  character  I  have  not  the  most  distant  preten- 
sions. I  do  not  know  whether  I  do  not  hazard  my  pre- 
tensions to  be  a  critic  of  any  kind,  when  I  say  that  I  think 
Virgil,  in  many  instances,  a  servile  copier  of  Homer.  If 
I  had  the  Odyssey  by  me,  I  could  parallel  many  passages 
where  Virgil  has  evidently  copied,  but  by  no  means  im- 
proved, Homer.  Nor  can  I  think  there  is  any  thing  of 
this  owing  to  the  translators ;  for,  from  every  thing  I  have 
seen  of  Dryden,  I  think  him  in  genius  and  fluency  of  lan- 
guage. Pope's  master.     I  have  not  perused  Tasso  enough 


90  Correspondence  between 

to  form  an  opinion :  in  some  future  letter  you  shall  have 
my  ideas  of  him ;  though  I  am  conscious  my  criticisms 
must  be  very  inaccurate  and  imperfect,  as  there  I  have 
ever  felt  and  lamented  my  want  of  learning  most.     R.  B. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns. 

Haddington,  May  1788. 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  believe  you  have  sent  me    your   cold   in 

your  letter,  for  I  have  had  it  pretty  severely  for  some  days 

past.     I  indeed  in  some  degree  deserved  this  at  your  hand 

from  the  unsymi^athizing  manner  in  which  I  received  the 

intelligence  of  your  illness,   for  I  will  honestly  confess  I 

have  very  seldom  been  so   much  pleased   to  hear  of  any 

body's  good  health  as  I  was  to  read  your  sickness  under 

your   hand,   especially  as  I   looked  on  your  writing  as   a 

proof  of  your  recovery.     Your  giving  me  two  letters  for 

one  is  to  me  perfect  conviction  that  you  have  some  little 

pleasure  in  mine.     I  shall  therefore   henceforth    dispense 

with  apologies,   and    gratify  my  own  vanity  by  implicitly 

believing,  when  you  don't  see  me  or  let  me  hear  from  you, 

that  it  is  a  mutual  disappointment  to  both.     I  am  sure  it 

will  always  be  at  least  so  to  one. 

Yes,  Burns,  when  others  court  the  painter's  aid, 

Or  bid  the  torch  reflect  the  profile  shade, 

The  light  is  shifted  and  the  object  plac'd 

To  shape  the  image  to  the  wearer's  taste  ; 

My  pen  oft  draws  a  picture  of  the  mind, 

Th'  unstudy'd  present  to  your  trust  consign'd, 

I  believe  the  critics  of  all  ages  have  agreed  with  you  as 
to  the  Georgics  of  Virgil.  I  don't  know  if  I  guess  right, 
but  I  should  suspect  the  translators  would  have  suited 
better  had  Pope  and  Dryden  exchanged  authors.  Dryden 
has  infinite  force  and  fire,  but  something  indelicate  and, 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        91 

I  imagine,  unfitted  for  the  measured  strain  of  the  ^neia 
and  the  polite  Augustan  Court,  Yet,  unless  you  feel  what 
I  mean,  which  is  possibly  all  a  chimera,  I  don't  know  how 
to  express  it  myself,  but  I  think  Mr.  M'Kenzie  could  de- 
scribe it  better.  Meantime  you  will  not  be  pleased  with 
Tasso  neither  if  you  dislike  the  imitation  of  Homer,  which 
none  of  the  Epic  poets  have  ever  yet,  I  believe,  ventured 
to  shun,  but  on  the  contrary  all  dragged  servilely  in  his 
wake  —  at  least  all  them  I  have  ever  seen  or  heard  any 
account  of.  I  have  been  told  the  Italian  Ariosto  has 
struck  out  a  path  for  himself,  but  I  cannot  read  him  in 
the  original,  and  I  don't  know  if  he  is  translated  into 
English. 

Tell  me  your  opinion  of  the  following  lines,^  I  mean 
your  idea  of  the  capacity  of  their  writer  to  please  the 
publick  in  some  novel  or  miscellaneous  productions.  He 
is  fallen  from  affluence  to  penury  with  a  very  large  family, 
for  whom  he  is  wholly  unsuited  to  make  any  effort  in  any 
other  line.  I  once  gave  him  my  advice  to  write.  He 
expatiated  on  the  difficulties,  and  ran  down  the  attempts 
of  several  of  my  favourites  to  illustrate  his  theory.  I 
wrot  him  a  few  lines  which  I  sent  you  in  my  last  letter, 
and  to  which  this  is  his  reply,  of  which  I  cannot  be  sup- 
posed a  judge  after  the  flummery  with  which  it  sets  out, 
especially  as  I  believe  his  great  partiality  to  me  makes 
whatever  he  says  half  earnest,  and  unaccountable  whim 
guides  all  his  partialities.  But  I  have  not  left  room  for 
the  lines,  so  must  inclose  them,  begging  you  may  return 
them  to  me  here.  I  admire  your  criticizims,  and  the  more 
that  you  call  them  unlettered,  though  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve them  so ;  but  I  must  still  more  approve  the  very 
great  prudence  and  good  sense  you  have  shown  in  regard  to 


92  Correspondence  between 


your  commission,  these  not  being  generally  the  predomi- 
nate features  that  characterize  the  favourites  of  the  Muses, 
or  the  forte  of  those  whose  warm  affections  and  keen 
passions  give  energy  to  poetic  expression.  It  therefore 
gives  me  double  pleasure  to  commend  where  I  could  have 
entertained  most  dubiety  of  your  superiority.  Adieu. 
My  inclosed  poet  has  a  wife  and  about  a  dozen  poor 
children.  F.  D. 

(i)  The  lines  have  not  been  preserved,  nor  is  the 
author's  name  known. 

Ad.  Mrs.  DuNLOP  of  Dunlop, 

at  Mr.  Dunlop's,  Haddington. 

Mauchline,  2']th  May  1788. 

Madam,  —  I  have  been  torturing  my  Philosophy  to  no 
purpose,  to  account  for  that  kind  Partiality  of  yours,  which, 
unlike  every  other  of  my  Patronesses  and  Patrons  in  upper 
life,  has  followed  me  in  my  return  to  my  native  shade  of 
life,  with  assiduous  benevolence.  Often  did  I  regret  in  the 
fleeting  hours  of  my  late  will-o'-wisp  appearance  that,  "  Here 
I  had  no  continuing  city ;  "  and,  but  for  the  material  con- 
solation of  a  few  solid  guineas,  could  almost  lament  the 
time  that  a  momentary  acquaintance  with  wealth  and 
splendor  put  me  so  much  out  of  conceit  with  the  sworn 
companions  of  my  road  through  Life  —  Insignificance  and 
Poverty. 

It  is  so  common  with  Poets,  when  their  Patrons  try  their 
hand  at  a  Rhyme,  to  cry  up  the  Honble.  or  Rt.  Honble. 
performance  as  Matchless,  Divine,  etc.,  that  I  am  afraid 
to  open  my  mouth  respecting  your  poetic  extempores  that 
you  occasionally  favo'r  me  with  :  I  will  only  say,  you  can- 
not oblidge  me  more  than  sending  them  me.     For  my  own 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        93 

part,  I  have  extensive  rhyming  Projects  in  my  head,  but, 
present  cannot  for  my  soul  tag  a  stanza. 

There  are  few  circumstances  relating  to  the  unequal  dis- 
tribution of  the  good  things  of  this  life  that  give  me  more 
vexation  (I  mean  in  what  I  see  around  me)  than  the  Im- 
portance that  the  great  bestow  on  their  trifles  and  small 
matters  in  family  affairs,  compared  with  the  same,  the  very 
same  things  on  the  contracted  scale  of  a  cottage.  Last 
afternoon,  I  had  the  honor  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  at  a 
good  woman's  fireside,  where  the  homely  planks  that  com- 
posed the  floor  were  decorated  with  a  splendid  carpet, 
and  the  gay  table  sparkled  with  silver  and  china.  'Tis 
now  about  term  day,  and  there  has  been  a  revolution 
among  those  creatures  who,  tho'  in  appearance.  Partakers, 
and  equally  noble  Partakers  of  the  same  Nature  with 
Madame ;  yet  are  from  time  to  time,  their  nerves,  their 
sinews,  their  health,  strength,  wisdom,  experience,  genius, 
time,  nay  a  good  part  of  their  very  thoughts,  sold  for 
months  and  years,  anxious  Drudges,  sweating,  weary  slaves, 
not  only  to  the  necessities,  the  conveniences,  but  the 
caprices  of  the  important  few.  We  talk'd  of  the  insignifi- 
cant Creatures ;  nay,  notwithstanding  their  general  stupid- 
ity and  Rascality,  did  some  of  the  poor  devils  the  honor  to 
commend  them.  But,  light  be  turf  upon  his  breast  who 
taught —  "Reverence  Thyself!  "  We  looked  down  on  the 
unpolished  wretches,  their  impertinent  wives  and  clouterly 
brats,  as  the  lordly  Bull  does  on  the  little  dirty  ant-hill, 
whose  puny  inhabitants  he  crushes  in  the  carelessness  of 
his  ramble,  or  tosses  in  air  in  the  wantonness  of  his  pride. 

I  return  you  the  Poem  with  my  thanks  for  the  perusal. 
Alas,  Madam  !  the  very  ingenious  author  deserves  a  better 


94  Correspondence  between 

friend  than  the  Press.  I  feel  most  truly  for  him }  but  no 
writing  in  this  our  day  will  take,  except  very  transcendant 
excellence  indeed,  or  Novelty. 

I  have  often  had  it  in  my  head  to  write  to  you  in  my 
miscellaneous  way,  a  paragraph  or  sheet  now  and  then  as 
the  spirit  moves  me  ;  but  with  all  my  loyalty  for  his  most 
sacred  and  most  sapient  Majesty,  George  III.,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  Rex,  I  hate  and  abhor  his  exorbitant  Postages. 

My  old  direction  —  at  Mauchline,  will  find  me.  —  I 
have  the  honor  to  be  most  gratefully,  Madam,  your  humble 
servt.  RoBT.  Burns. 

Do  let  me  know  when  my  brother  Farmer's  [Captain 
Dunlop's]  family  increases.  R.  B. 

Ad.  Mr.  DuNLOP  of  Dunlop, 
Dunlop  House. 

[30tk  May  1788.] 

Sir,  —  I  mentioned  to  your  Mother  in  a  letter  I  wrote 
her  yesterday,  which  is  the  third  or  fourth  I  have  wrote  her 
to  Haddington,  that  ray  Philosophy  was  gravelled  to  ac- 
count for  that  Partiality  from  the  house  of  Dunlop  of  which 
I  have  the  honor  to  be  so  much  the  Object.  Do  you 
know  that  except  from  your  Mother  and  the  good  family, 
my  existence  or  non-existence  is  now  of  as  little  importance 
to  that  Great  World  I  lately  left,  as  the  satellites  of  the 
Georgium  Sidus  is  to  a  parcel  of  your  Ditchers.  I  foresaw 
this  from  the  beginning.  Ambition  could  not  form  a 
higher  wish  than  to  be  wedded  to  Novelty ;  but  I  retired 
to  my  shades  with  a  little  comfortable  pride  and  a  few 
comfortable  pounds ;  and  even  there  I  enjoy  the  peculiar 
happiness  of  Mrs.  Dunlop's  friendship  and  correspondence, 
a  happiness  I  shall  ever  gratefully  prize  next  to  the  dearest 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        95 

ties  that  wind  about  ray  heart,  so,  in  my  Ploughman  Com- 
pUment,  I  bid  the  World  Gude  Speed  ! 

Your  Mother  never  hinted  at  the  report  of  my  late  change 
in  life,  and  I  did  not  know  how  to  tell  her.  I  am  afraid 
that  perhaps  she  will  not  entirely  enter  into  the  motives  of 
my  conduct,  so  I  have  kept  aloof  from  the  affair  altogether. 
I  saw,  Sir,  that  I  had  a  once,  and  still  much-lov'd  fellow- 
creature's  happiness  or  misery  among  my  hands ;  and  I 
could  not  dally  with  such  a  matter.  Pride  and  seeming 
justice  like  true  murderous  King's  Advocates  talked  much 
of  injuries  and  wrongs ;  but  Generosity,  Humanity,  and 
Forgiveness  were  such  irresistible  Counsel  for  the  poor 
Pannel,  that  a  Jury  of  old  Attachments  and  new  Endear- 
ments brought  in  a  verdict  —  not  guilty  ! 

I  shall  be  at  Glasgow  in  the  middle  of  next  week,  and  if 

I  find  you  at  home,^  I  shall  certainly  take  the  opportunity 

of  assuring  you  in  propria  persona  how  much  I  have  the 

honor  to  be.  Sir,  your  ever  grateful  hum.  ser\'t. 

RoBT.  Burns. 
Mauchline,  Saturday  morn. 

(i)  At  Dunlop,  which  lies  between  Mauchline  and 
Glasgow. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns,  Mosgill, 
near  Mauchline. 

Haddington,  i^h  June  1788. 
[Franked  by  Kerr:   Edinr.,  Fifth  June  1788.] 

I  don't  remember  whether  it  is  Solomon  or  Lord  Ches- 
terfield that  says  "  Go  to  the  ant  and  learn  wisdom." 
Instead  of  torturing  your  philosophy  for  the  solution  of  an 
easy  question,  let  me  refer  you  to  the  Mouse  or  the  Moun- 
tain Daisey,  to  the  Cotter  or  the  Farmer's  Auld  Mare,  to 
things  animate  and  things  inanimate. 


96  Correspondence  between 

O  Nature  all  thy  shews  and  forms 

To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  have  charms ; 

Whether  the  Summer  kindly  warms, 

VVi'  life  and  light, 
Or  Winter  howls  in  gusty  storms, 

The  long  dark  night ! 

Yet  trust  me,  of  all  her  shews  the  most  pleasantly  interest- 
ing is  the  mind  that  marks  the  rest,  and  whose  language, 
like  a  fine  cut  seal,  imprints  them  on  the  soul  with  the 
most  beautiful,  clear,  soft  and  lasting  impressions.  'Tis 
here,  as  in  a  glass,  we  expect  to  meet  the  fairest  reflection 
of  all  God's  works,  nay  even  to  read  our  own  thoughts  to 
double  advantage,  when  we  happen  to  meet  them  better 
arrayed  than  ever  they  could  have  left  home,  and  in  the 
best  company  good  sense,  taste,  or  information  can  place 
around  them.  Is  not  such  a  correspondence  a  rational 
delight,  and  does  not  one  owe  some  partiality,  as  well  as 
some  gratitude,  to  whoever  is  willing  to  indulge  them  with 
so  peculiar  a  pleasure,  especially  if  it  is  done  with  the 
unconstrained  freedom  which  nothing  but  friendship  and 
esteem  can  ever  prompt?  Now,  I  hope  I  have  fully  ex- 
plained and  accounted  for  the  tax  I  have  wished  to  sub- 
ject you  to,  and  in  which  I  am  sometimes  vain  enough  to 
almost  believe  you  might  yourself  have  some  satisfaction 
as  well  as  me,  since  you  have  had  the  patience  to  read  and 
the  good  nature  to  say  you  were  pleased  with  receiving  the 
scratches  I  have  hitherto  exposed  to  your  eye,  wholly  to 
indulge  myself,  and  try  to  draw  you  to  retaliation.  Just  at 
the  moment  when  I  begun  to  hope  I  had  succeeded,  a  cir- 
cumstance staggers  my  faith.  I  am  told  in  a  letter  that 
you  have  been  a  month  married.  I  am  unwilling  to  be- 
lieve so  important  an  era  of  your  life  has  past,  and  you 
have  considered  me  as  so  very  little  concerned  in  what 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        97 

concerned  you  most  as  never  to  give  me  the  most  distant 
hint  of  your  wishing  such  a  change  or  of  its  accomplish- 
ment, while  I  have  had  the  favour  of  hearing  two  three 
times  of  you  during  that  interim.  Allow  me,  however, 
married  or  unmarried,  to  wish  you  joy,  which  I  assure  you 
I  do  most  sincerely  in  every  situation  in  which  yourself  or 
Providence  can  put  you.  Don't,  I  beg  you,  check  the  in- 
clination, should  it  ever  seize  you,  of  writing  a  miscella 
neous  page  to  me,  spite  of  all  the  kings  of  Europe.  It  is 
true  George  Rex  has  provoked  me  so  far,  had  it  been 
female  to  curse  any  man  or  thing,  I  could  have  sometimes 
anathematized  the  postages,  which  have  made  me  drop 
several  correspondences  in  my  time,  and  had  I  not  some- 
times been  able,  or  at  least  believed  I  had  been  able,  to 
get  a  sheet  conveyed  now  and  then  gratis  to  you,  I  should 
frequently  have  been  ashamed  to  make  you  pay  for  so  many. 
But  since  I  came  here,  I  persuaded  myself  you  had  not ;  do 
tell  me  if  I  am  mistaken.  For  my  paying,  don't  mind  that. 
It  is  true  ray  children  have  and  are  intituled  to  my  income ; 
their  happiness  is  all  my  end  and  aim  in  life,  and  their  ad- 
vantage my  honour  and  my  duty.  To  this  I  sacrifice  what 
many  would  account  the  necessaries  of  life.  The  letters 
of  a  very  few  friends  are  my  sole  personal  pleasure  and 
expense.  I  don't  grudge  it  myself,  and  no  one  else  ought 
to  grudge  it  for  me.  I  require  neither  fine  gown  nor  splen- 
did carpet,  nor  could  know  to  value  them  like  your  acquaint- 
ance, from  whom  I  covet  nothing  except  your  visit,  which 
I  shrewdly  suspect  I  would  have  held  in  juster  estimation 
than  she  was  capable  of,  though  I  could  not  equal  her  gen- 
erosity in  giving  so  largely  to  the  poor  in  the  distribution 
of  stupidity  or  rascality,  where  I  have  a  far  meaner  opinion 
of  their  claims  than  she  and  you  discerned  for.     But  every 

VOL.   I.  —  7 


98  Correspondence  between 

one  has  their  own  hobby-horse  in  this  world.  The  honest 
woman,  looking  with  self-complacence  at  the  carpet, 
drawing  up  her  head,  blest  herself  in  being  unlike  those 
poor  publicans,  and  canters  on  as  proud  as  a  peacock. 
"Hiegh-up,"  says  you,  helping  her  on,  but,  turning  to  me, 
tips  the  wink  with  a  sneer,  half  mirth,  half  malice.  But 
suppress,  if  you  please,  the  later  half;  it  is  below  a  man  to 
be  angry  at  a  child  for  being  happy  with  his  drum,  and 
proud  how  loud  he  can  beat  and  deaf  you  with  its  noise. 
Poor  infant !  his  faculties  are  satisfied ;  so  shall  yours  in 
the  wide  round  of  time  be  thankful  their  circle  is  more 
extensive,  and  you  shall  find  imployment  walking  it  over 
when  the  parchment  of  his  drum-head  is  fairly  beat  out. 
Then  will  you  be  dozing  with  old  Homer  till  fame  beat 
the  reveille  and  set  you  at  work  again  —  I  would  fain  know 
upon  what  plan,  if  you  dare  trust  me,  but  don't  if  you  are 
reluctant.  I  would  not  incroach  upon  your  confidence, 
tho'  nobody  would  enjoy  it  more  were  it  a  voluntary  gift. 
You  say  you  cannot  tag  a  stanza.  I  am  sympathetically 
out  of  tune  too,  which  I  daresay  you  are  glad  of,  and  no 
one  else  will  be  sensible  of  the  misfortune.  I  hope  your 
voice  will  soon  recover.  I  should  truly  regret  your  being 
deprived  of  so  great  a  pleasure,  and  from  which  I  expect 
to  see  yourself  and  the  world  draw  so  much  profit.  Be- 
sides, should  I  continue  my  original  dumb  fit,  which  I 
think  highly  probable,  your  notes  will  amuse  me  much 
more  agreeably  than  my  own,  and  I  would  not  willingly 
be  deprived  of  so  charming  a  succedaneum.  This  hard 
word  puts  me  in  mind  to  ask  you  the  meaning  of  one  I 
met  in  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague's  Letters  (a  book 
well  worth  your  reading,  as  she  is  esteemed  the  first  female 
scribe  in  Britain,  perhaps  in  the  world).     The  word  was 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop        on 

a  sheep  newly  raddled.  I  have  no  dictionar}',  nor  nobody 
near  me  wiser  than  myself.  I  will  be  proud  to  have  you 
for  an  instructor,  if  you  will  do  me  that  favour.  I  fear 
you  have  not  liked  Tasso.  Tell  me  why,  yet  do  not  in- 
struct me  there,  for  there  is  a  joy  in  approving  from  the 
heart  I  would  not  like  to  be  informed  out  of  by  my  own 
or  a  better  judgment.  Yet,  although  I  would  be  sorry  you 
did  not  like  my  favourite,  I  have  no  objection  to  hearing 
every  fault  you  will  deign  to  point  out  in  him,  for,  if  I  may 
judge  by  myself,  to  critisize  a  poet  is  a  sign  of  finding  him 
well  worth  notice,  and  I  do  not  insist  that  my  dead  favour- 
ites should  be  held  quite  perfect,  though  I  may  sometimes 
receive  but  awkwardly  ill-natured  animadversions  on  the 
living.  I  believe  there  is  a  letter  for  you  from  my  /\nthony 
l}dng  at  Lady  Wallace's,  unless  she  sent  it  to  Wilson  by  the 
Kilmarnock  carrier.  Poor  fellow  !  He  is  not  sailed  yet 
from  Europe,  nor  my  grandson  arrived.  I  will  write  you 
when  he  does,  if  I  can  know  that  this  costs  you  nothing, 
but  at  this  distance  the  charge  far  outgoes  the  profit.  Yet 
admire  my  economy,  both  in  the  size  of  my  sheet,  and  the 
smallness  of  my  type.  Pray,  copy  me  here,  where  alone  I 
pretend  to  excell.  Your  hand,  though  characteristically 
original,  like  its  owner,  is  extravagantly  large,  and  a  per- 
fect luxury  which  I  have  thrown  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean  ever 
since  I  had  so  many  sons  on  the  farther  side  of  it,  when  I 
first  adopted  a  crow  quill,  since  reserved  for  my  friends, 
and  therefore,  whenever  I  have  one,  always  sacred  to  you 
from,  dear  sir,  your  obliged  and  obedient  humble  sert. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

John  and  his  wife  offer  compts.  with  me.     When  you  get 
to  Edr.,  if  you  should  not  recover  what,  as  a  Free  Mason, 


A 


lOO  Correspondence  between 

you  must  this  day  suffer  for  your  loyalty  to  your  Grand 
Master  so  much  as  to  be  able  to  do  it  sooner ;  for  I  really 
long  for  your  answer,  should  it  be  only  yes  or  no  to  a  ques- 
tion which  I  believe,  though  I  have  not  asked,  but  which 
you  must  surely  guess.     Adieu. 

Burns  went  to  reside  at  Ellisland  on  13th  June. 
As  the  farm  buildings  had  to  be  reconstructed,  he 
left  his  wife  and  child  at  Maiichline,  and  while  build- 
ing operations  were  going  on,  lived  himself  in  a  hut 
about  half  a  mile  below  the  farm,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  tower  of  the  Isle. 

Ad.  Mrs.  DuNLOP,  at  Mr.  Dunlop's, 

Haddington. 

Ellisland,  x^^th  (i^h)/une  1788. 

Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  I  see, 

My  heart,  untravell'd,  fondly  turns  to  thee ; 

Still  to  my  friend  it  turns  with  ceaseless  pain, 

And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain.  —  Goldsmith. 

This  is  the  second  day,  my  honored  friend,  that  I  have 
been    on  my    farm.     A  solitary  inmate    of  an  old,  smoky 
Spcnce   [apartment]  ;  far  from    every  object  I  love,  or  by 
whom    I    am    beloved ;  nor   any  acquaintance   older  than 
yesterday,  except  Jemiy  Geddes,  the  old  mare   I  ride  on ; 
while  uncouth  cares  and  novel  plans  hourly  insult  my  awk- 
ward   ignorance    and    bashful    inexperience.      There    is   a 
!  foggy  atmosphere  native  to  my  soul  in  the  hour  of  care, 
I  consequently  the  dreary  objects  seem  larger  than  the  life. 
'  Extreme  sensibility,  irritated  and  prejudiced  on  the  gloomy 
side  by  a  series  of  misfortunes  and  disappointments,  at  that 
period  of  my  existence  when  the  soul  is  laying  in  her  cargo 
of  ideas  for  the  voyage  of  life,  is,  I  beheve,  the  principal 
cause  of  this  unhappy  frame  of  mind. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      loi 

The  valiant,  in  himself  what  can  he  suffer  ? 
Or  what  need  he  regard  his  single  woes  ?  etc. 

Your   surmise,  madam,   is  just :    I   am,  indeed,  a   hus- 
band. .  .  . 

I  found  a  once  much-loved  and  still  much-loved  female 
literally  and  truly  cast  out  to  the  mercy  of  the  naked  ele- 
ments, but  as  I  enabled  her  to  purchase  a  shelter,  and 
there  is  no  sporting  with  a  fellow-creature's  happiness  or 
misery.  .  .  . 
I  The  most  placid  good-nature  and  sweetness  of  disposi- 
/  tion ;  a  warm  heart,  gratefully  devoted  with  all  its  powers 
to  love  me ;  vigorous  health  and  sprightly  cheerfulness,  set 
off  to  the  best  advantage  by  a  more  than  common  hand- 
some figure ;  these,  I  think,  in  a  woman,  may  make  a  good 
wife,  though  she  should  never  read  a  page  but  "  The  Scrip- 
tures of  the  Old  and  New  Testament,"  nor  have  danced  in 
a  brighter  assembly  than  a  penny-pay  wedding. 

To  Burns. 

Haddington,  i6tk  June  1788. 

Sm,  —  'T  is  indulging  myself  in  an  agreeable  manner  to 
sit  down  and  write  what  comes  uppermost,  and  direct  the 
sheet  to  one  whose  every  line  I  receive  with  delight,  were 
it  only  to  proceed  from  the  single  remembrance  of  its  being 
the  produce  of  that  pen  which  has  formerly  obliged  the 
world,  and  more  especially  myself,  more  than  I  can  express. 
Nothing  can  henceforward  fall  from  an  author  whose  native 
ideas  have  once  very  forcibly  struck  our  imagination,  that 
will  be  read  with  indifference  independent  of  its  real  merit. 
Cease  then  to  say  your  portion  in  life  must  be  poverty  and 
insignificance.  As  to  the  first,  I  shall  not  presume  to  fore- 
tell, although    I    think    the    supposition   very   improbable. 


I02  Correspondence  between 

■For  the  other,  I  aver  it  is  utterly  impossible,  if  Britain  is 
not  overrun  by  something  worse  than  Goths  and  Vandals. 
I  think  you  above  affectation  of  any  kind,  so  that  I  am  afraid 
some  temporary  depression  of  spirits  has  suggested  this 
injustice  to  yourself  and  others  that  could  lead  you  for  a 
single  moment  to  conceive  the  possibility  of  your  being 
overlooked  by  any  one  whose  esteem  you  could  value  or 
wish  to  cultivate.  I  wish  I  could  help  to  eradicate  such 
an  error  from  your  mind  for  ever,  and  teach  you  to  respect 
yourself  Tcioxe  than  to  give  harbour  to  so  degrading  a  sus- 
picion. I  am  sure  female  fancy  itself  could  never  invent 
a  more  improbable  poetic  fiction  than  you  have  done  in 
broaching  such  an  out-of-the-world  notion.  Belisarius 
blind  and  begging  is  a  joke  to  it ;  Rousseau,  indeed,  poor 
man  !  became  an  idiot ;  so  did  Swift ;  yet  no  future  event 
could  rob  either  of  their  former  fame.  This  was  the  treas- 
ure of  the  soul.  Besides,  as  Alexander  the  Great  said,  the 
only  thing  in  this  world  we  can  never  lose  is  what  we  have 
given  away  to  our  friends.  Now,  the  ideas  a  poet  has  put 
on  paper  are  ever  his ;  they  are  given  generously  to  his 
friends  and  foes ;  the  world  must  enjoy  them ;  if  they  once 
had  merit  they  can  never  lose  it ;  if  his  genius  rises,  it 
confers  a  brighter  luster  on  the  past;  if  it  falls,  the  twie- 
light  of  his  day  is  forgotten,  but  cannot  obscure  his  meri- 
dian glory.  The  man  who  has  once  added  honour  to  his 
name  will  feel  himself  borne  up  by  that  name  ever  after; 
yet  our  name  cannot  convey  our  nature ;  I  wish  to  God  it 
did,  since  I  was  once  a  Wallace.  But,  alas  !  no.  Vou  have 
a  namesake  here  —  a  wright  [carpenter]  ;  he  has  made 
money,  gained  respect,  and  is  a  great  man  in  his  way. 
He  told  last  day  he  had  payed  ten  guineas  for  a  cow; 
'twas   observed    much   might    be   drawn   here   by   selling 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      103 

milk.  "Yes,"  replies  this  philanthropist;  "I  sold  it  for 
some  days,  but  I  was  not  able  to  endure  the  sight  of  so 
many  miserable  wretches  as  came  to  buy,  and  now  I  order 
it  to  be  given  to  the  hogs."  This  much  for  the  living. 
My  contemplations  have  been  among  the  dead.  The 
Church  is  a  fine  ruin,  and  the  tombs  are  diversified. 
One  stone  is  thus  inscribed  :  — 

Here  lies,  I  want  room  to  say  what, 

Think  what  a  woman  should  be :  she  was  that. 

The  Minister  wrote  below  with  a  bit  of  chalk  — 

A  woman  should  be  wife  and  mother, 
She  was  neither  one  nor  t'  other. 

Another  epitaph  is  thus  :  — 

O  Death,  how  absolute  thy  sway. 
When  thou  commandest  we  must  obey; 
'T  is  vain  in  mighty  strength  to  trust. 
For  strong  thou  crumbiest  into  dust. 

Is  not  this  an  Irishism  ?  I  would  transcribe  some  more  of 
them  were  it  not  that  I  have  some  hope  I  may  one  day 
read  them  or  point  them  to  your  perusal  on  the  spot.  I 
too  had  the  chalk  in  my  hand,  and  wrot  spontaneously  on 
a  pillar  of  a  falling  arch  by  which  I  stood,  forgetting  but 
what  I  was  at  home,  scribbling  to  you  :  — 

O  Time  !  O  Death  !  destructive  pair.  Nor  life  nor  stone  thou  know- 
est  to  spare. 

Church,  men,  and  monuments,  that  here  consume,  cry  Vain  is  Van- 
ity ;  thy  very  tomb  .  .  . 

\^th,  12  at  Night. 

I  wrote  the  above  yesterday ;  the  handwriting  is  a  true 
emblem  of  the  writer's  mind.  I  have  slept  since,  but, 
what  is  perhaps  worse,  have  waked  again ;  therefore  will 


I04  Correspondence  between 

endeavour  to  forget  the  churchyard  and  all  its  powers  over 
me  so  far  as  to  write  legibly.  I  have  walked  up  a  very  high 
hill  above  the  town ;  it  is  a  glorious  landscape.  I  wished 
for  your  pen  to  describe  it  and  the  inconceivable  wildness 
of  the  spot  just  by  the  summit,  which  commands  so  vast 
a  variety  of  objects  rather  than  a  great  extent  of  space. 
Coming  down  the  hill,  I  took  a  letter  of  yours  out  of  my 
pocket ;  it  enclosed  a  fragment  of  a  poem  you  once  sent 
me.  You  called  it  a  sin-offering  [see  App.,  vol.  ii.  p.  306]  ; 
perhaps  it  should  have  been  also  a  burnt-offering ;  yet  I 
should  have  regretted  it  had,  for  I  confess  I  thought  it  an 
incense  of  a  sweet-smelling  savour.  But,  auricular  confes- 
sion being  no  part  of  our  creed,  perhaps  it  is  a  sin  to  say  so. 
If  it  is,  I  know  you  will  readily  pronounce  my  pardon  in  the 
words  of  the  Church  ;  if  not,  I  shall  write  them  more  hum- 
bly as  a  prayer  "Your  sins  be  forgiven  you,"  and  this  may 
answer  for  both  ;  or,  should  all  the  world  thrust  themselves 
in,  I  would  only  say  Amen  the  more  heartily.  Yet,  indeed 
I  have  committed  a  very  heavy  trespass  on  this  very  paper, 
for  which  conscience  just  now  stares  me  in  the  face.  This 
was  in  the  mention  I  have  made  of  Mr.  Burns,  the  wright. 
While  I  am  sitting  writing  I  hear  the  company  talking  of 
him.  They  are  telling  that  since  he  got  money  his  father's 
affairs  have  gone  to  ruin,  and  his  prosperity  never  knew  the 
happiness  his  son's  unwearied  attentions  have  heaped  upon 
his  decline  ;  besides  which,  he  has  been  a  father  to  his 
brothers  and  sisters.  Let  me  retract  and  cry  out,  "O 
Burns,  live  for  ever  !  "  And  every  time  I  think  upon  thy 
honoured  name,  let  it  be  for  a  bridle  upon  my  malevolent 
tongue,  and  a  rebuke  to  my  rash  heart.  Let  me  hence- 
forward learn  not  to  judge  lest  I  be  judged,  and  it  will  not 
be  the  first  moral  lesson  thy  name  hath  taught  me,  and 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      105 

which  I  shall  practise  with  the  more  pleasure  for  thy  sake. 
Adieu.  It  is  midnight ;  the  candle  dies  out  before  me.  I 
know  not  where  you  are  or  how  or  when  you  may  see  this. 
Besides,  I  believe  you  don't  read  my  scrawls,  or  forget  the 
one  end  before  you  get  at  the  other,  for  you  have  never 
told  me  the  meaning  of  raddle,  whether  you  were  married 
or  a  batchelor,  or  whether  you  paid  for  my  letters  or  got 
them  gratis ;  whether  you  were  coming  to  Edr.  now  at  all 
or  when ;  and  if  you  would  come  here  and  see  me,  as  I  be- 
lieve my  stay  will  be  much  longer  than  I  had  thought  for  — 
perhaps  still  two  or  three  months.  Now,  I  won't  send  you 
another  scrape  of  a  pen,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  till  you 
give  a  categorical  reply  to  every  one  of  these  queries  in 
order. 

FINIS. 

The  letter  which  follows  is  of  particular  interest 
in  so  far  as  it  furnishes  the  motif  {ox  Burns's  famous 
declaration — "To  jealousy  or  infidelity  I  am  an 
equal  stranger,"  which,  as  will  be  seen,  was  written 
in  answer  to  some  very  sagacious  and  very  plainly 
expressed  forebodings  of  Mrs.  Dunlop's. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

Mauchline. 

2i,thjime  1788. 

[Franked  by  Kerr:  Glasgow,  Fifth  July  1788.] 
Dr.  Burns,  —  I  have  yours  telling  me  of  your  marriage 
—  the  only  circumstance  I  had  been  told  before,  and 
almost  the  only  one  you  mention  of  an  occurrence  where  I 
sincerely  wish  to  be  acquainted  with  every  particular  that 
can  influence  your  future  happiness  or  figure  in  the  world. 
Your  picture    of  the  character  and  disposition   ought   to 


io6  Correspondence  between 


make  a  rational  man  happy,  if  fairly  drawn,  and  properly 
accompany'd,  but  much  depends  on  the  man  as  well  as  on 
the  poor  female,  from  whom  you  men  generally  require  all, 
and  to  whom  a  great  many  of  you  give  nothing.  I  sit 
down,  as  the  phrase  is,  to  give  you  joy.  Were  fate  in 
my  disposal.  Heaven  knows  the  words  would  not  be  ill 
chosen,  but  as  matters  stand,  I  must  correct  the  expression, 
and  confine  myself  to  the  sincerest  wishes  that  the  phantom 
may  never  elude  your  grasp,  but  smile  upon  every  moment 
of  your  life  and  realize  what  "  youthful  poets  fancy  in  their 
dreams."  Meanwhile,  I  wish  you  had  told  me  a  thousand 
things  to  direct  my  dreams  with  regard  to  the  scene  your 
last  opens  for  my  friend,  and  which  must  to  one  of  your 
exquisite  sensibility  prove  unbounded  bliss  or  misery.  I 
wish  to  take  no  information  from  the  world.  They  are  gen- 
erally prejudiced,  and  more  with  regard  to  you  than  others  ; 
but  I  would  fain  ask  you  if  you  can  forgive  me  questions 
that  are  prompted  by  goodwill,  but  may,  I  fear,  seem  en- 
croaching and  impertinent.  Literary  merit  is  superfluous, 
often  hurtful,  and  hardly  ever  useful  to  our  sex.  In  your 
wife  there  is  one  quality  I  must  wish  added  to  those  you 
enumerate,  which  is  activity  and  capacity  in  the  domestic 
life.  In  that  line  to  which  a  large  lease  ties  you,  without 
these  I  fear  you  should  never  take  possession  of  that,  but 
trust  entirely  to  that  commission  which  I  had  hitherto 
regarded  as  only  a  forlorn  hope,  having  built  a  fine  fairy 
fabrick  on  the  serenity  and  dignity  of  that  rural  scene  from 
whence  I  expect  to  see  your  lucubrations  issue  to  light  and 
bring  home  a  plenteous  crop  of  money  and  applause  to  your 
humble  independent  dwelling.  Indeed,  if  Mrs.  Bums  pos- 
sess that  household  mettle  which  a  great  many  very  valuable 
women  in  other  respects  are  deficient  in,  I  still  think  this 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      107 

your  plan,  and  will  still  hope  to  see  it  crowned  with  success, 
tho'  I  am  sensible  your  marriage  will  lose  you  a  number  of 
your  former  adherents.  Whether  your  wife  was  or  is  only  now 
become  the  mother  of  your  children  —  [is]  a  point  in  which 
I  anxiously  wish  myself  to  be  satisfied.  I  feel  all  the  indeli- 
cacy of  my  doing  so  ;  yet  cannot  help  putting  the  question. 
I  believe  all  your  motives  of  action  are  noble  and  generous, 
but  would  be  glad  to  exchange  surmise  for  certainty,  and  to 
be  able  to  assure  others  of  what  I  make  no  doubt  of  myself. 
Tell  me,  therefore,  I  beg  you,  what  prevented  your  mar- 
riage long  ago,  and  on  what  side  the  demurs  came  that  are 
now  removed ;  for  I  hope  the  mutual  interest  of  both  and 
the  advantage  of  the  little  ones.  O  Burns  !  since  I  have 
so  far  overleapt  decorum  as  touch  upon  this  subject,  let 
me  go  one  step  further,  and  tell  you  where  I  tremble 
for  your  peace.  You  say  there  is  a  heavy  atmosphere 
about  your  soul  that  shews  painful  objects  larger  than  the 
life.  You  have  tryed  your  influence  and  found  it  too 
powerful  with  a  young  innocent  girl,  who  sacrificed  every- 
thing valuable  to  convince  you  of  her  affection.  Set  a 
guard  over  your  heart,  lest  the  jaundiced  eye  of  jealousie 
should  one  day  view  this  proof  through  that  magnifying 
medium,  and  blast  that  confidence  in  your  wife  which  she 
so  implicitly  reposed  in  you,  and  which  is  the  only  bond  of 
conjugal  tranquillity.  Take  my  word  for  it,  time  and  pos- 
session does  not  more  loosen  the  fondness  of  most  men 
than  it  rivets  that  of  most  women,  especially  if  they  are 
living  a  retired,  industrious  life,  and  employed  in  the  care 
of  children  with  whom  they  share  a  husband's  tender  at- 
tachment and  assiduous  attentions.  To  please  him  is  the 
aim  of  every  wife  and  reward  of  every  anxiety  and  toil. 
Besides,  you  ought  to  do  justice  to  yourself,  and  be  convinced 


io8  Correspondence  between 

there  is  little  chance  of  your  losing  by  comparison  in  any 
rank,  and  none  of  being  equalled  in  your  own.  Yet,  if 
report  has  not  done  you  great  injury,  you  have  indulged 
in  a  freedom  of  life  that  poisons  a  man's  mind  for  a  hus- 
band, by  leading  him  to  measure  his  ideas  of  every  woman 
by  the  standard  of  the  very  worst  among  whom  he  has 
connected  himself.  Should  this  be  your  case,  the  extreme 
sensibility  of  your  nature,  the  very  qualities  that  suit  one 
most  to  receive  or  confer  happiness,  would  irritate  the 
slightest  dubiety,  an  ambiguous  look  or  word,  into  a  fer- 
ment that  nothing  would  ever  be  able  to  allay ;  and  you 
would  become  as  superiour  in  wretchedness  as  you  have 
already  shewed  yourself  in  poetic  merit,  and  I  believe  are  in 
real  worth  and  goodness  of  heart.  If  you  have  hitherto 
wandered  in  the  devious  paths  of  pleasure,  't  is  now  time  to 
strike  into  the  straight  road,  for  no  truth  is  more  uncon- 
trovertible, than  that  matrimonial  infidelity  in  even  the  most 
wealthy  man  hurts  his  family's  interest,  but  in  narrow  cir- 
cumstances leads  to  unavoidable  ruin.  You  lie  open  to 
more  temptation  this  way  than  most  other  men,  by  a  more 
extensive  familiarity  with  more  distant  ranks  in  life,  and 
this  will  be  encreast  by  many  circumstances  should  you 
quit  the  farm  for  the  Excise,  which  I  somehow  fear  you 
will  do.  That  is  a  life  of  more  idleness,  more  dissipation 
and  riot,  less  innocence  or  principle,  and  one's  time  is  in 
general  spent  in  worse,  meaner,  and  more  degrading  as 
well  as  more  corrupting  company.  But  forgive  me  ;  this  is 
Sunday  night,  and  I  have  been  preaching,  and  I  dread  you 
will  think  on  a  very  strange-chosen  text.  Yet  it  is  just  what 
I  think,  and  so  you  shall  have  it  for  better  for  worse,  like 
a  wife,  and  may  God  bless  you  with  both  !  I  had  wrot  the 
other  sheet  last  week,  but  knew  not  what  to  do  with  it  till 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      109 

I  heard  from  you.  What  terrible  change  do  I  feel  [in]  this 
correspondence  within  this  few  days.  'Tis  become  like 
writing  to  the  East  Indies.  Letters  may  lie  so  long  before 
you  can  see  or  answer  them.  Could  I  have  foreseen  that 
in  a  few  months  you  would  be  married  and  banished  Ayr- 
shire, I  had  never  wrot  you  at  all.  You  will  ask  me  who  would 
have  been  the  loser  by  that.  I  own  I  would  :  yet  you  may 
remember  I  once  told  you  I  had  given  over  writing  to 
Capt.  Woodburn  [see  page  8]  because  I  believed  he  was 
quite  happy,  I  most  sincerely  wish  I  may  soon  have  the 
same  reason  to  drop  you  too,  though  I  doubt  it  will  never 
be  in  my  power  without  extreme  reluctance  to  hold  my 
tongue  or  pen  where  I  have  learnt  to  please  myself  so  oft 
with  both.  I  am  quite  happy  you  liked  Coila  so  well,  and 
greatly  flattered  that  the  faults  you  found  were  those  I  had 
pointed  to  before,  but  the  lady  was  not  so  willing  to  trust 
my  skill  as  yours.  For  me  she  made  no  alteration,  but 
looked  on  yours  as  the  voice  of  inspiration  and  obey'd  it 
accordingly,  not  believing  herself  intitled  like  Joseph  or 
Daniel  to  know  a  vision  better  than  he  that  saw  it,  though 
setting  her  own  skill  against  mine  who  could  only  guess  at  it. 
I  had  a  great  wish  to  have  sent  you  a  fiddle  as  a  marriage 
present  suited  to  promote  harmony  in  your  household,  and 
bring  you  in  tune  after  this  stupid  harangue,  but  I  want  ear 
to  chuse  and  knowledge  how  to  get  anything  to  this  remote 
abode  of  yours,  even  a  letter,  and  I  have  no  pleasure  in 
writing  when  I  cannot  guess  when  to  look  for  an  answer. 
I  have  this  moment  a  letter  from  Anthony  ;  he  is  at  Brussels, 
where  he  says  he  hears  "  you  have  got  on  shackles.  Don't 
I  think  you  must  be  like  all  our  great  geniuses  a  little 
crackt?  Spite  of  which  he  sincerely  wishes  you  happy." 
Now,  I  am  up  with  you  for  your  idea  of  any  of  my  family 


1 1  o  Correspondence  between 

deserving  to  be  lampooned,  especially  as  you  will  not  know 
whether  to  believe  an  article  from  the  Brussels  Gazette 
or  not.  Farewell !  I  am  sorry  you  can  only  count  me  so 
far  off  a  friend,  spite  of  which  I  ever  am,  Dr.  Sir,  your 
obliged  and  obedient,  humble  sert.,  and  I  beg  leave  to 
assure  you  your  nearest  relation  or  warmest  friend  cannot 
esteem  you  more  or  wish  you  happier  than  does 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

The  Capt.  and  his  wife  offer  compts. 

Kerr  did  not  despatch  the  preceding  letter  (from 
Glasgow)  till  5th  July.  On  the  5th  Burns  passed 
through  the  ordeal  of  confirmation  of  his  irregular 
marriage.  He  seems  to  have  thereafter  made  another 
flying  visit  to  his  farm  in  Nithsdale,  and  to  have  re- 
turned to  Mauchline  before  the  lOth,  when  he  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Dunlop  in  reply  to  hers  of  the  24th  June. 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Mauchline,  \oth  July'^  1788. 

My  much  honored  Friend,  —  Yours  of  the  24th  June  is 
before  me.  I  found  it,  as  well  as  another  valued  friend  — 
my  wife,  waiting  to  welcome  me  to  Ayrshire :  I  met  both 
with  the  sincerest  pleasure. 

When  I  write  you,  madam,  I  do  not  sit  down  to  answer 
every  paragraph  of  yours,  by  echoing  every  sentiment,  like 
the  faithful  Commons  of  Great  Britain  in  Parliament  assem- 
bled, answering  a  speech  from  the  best  of  kings  !  I  express 
myself  in  the  fulness  of  my  heart,  and  may  perhaps  be 
guilty  of  neglecting  some  of  your  kind  inquiries ;  but  not 
from  your  very  odd  reason  that  I  do  not  read  your  letters. 
All  your  epistles  for  several  months  have  cost  me  nothing 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      1 1 1 


except  a  swelling  throb  of  gratitude,  or  a  deep-felt  sentiment 
of  veneration. 

Mrs.  Burns,  madam,  is  the  identical  woman.  .  .  .  When 
she  first  found  herself  "  as  women  wish  to  be  who  love  their 
lords,"  as  I  loved  her  nearly  to  distraction,  we  took  steps 
for  a  private  marriage.  Her  parents  got  the  hint;  and 
not  only  forbade  me  her  company  and  their  house,  but  on 
my  rumoured  West  Indian  voyage,  got  a  warrant  to  put  me 
in  jail  'till  I  should  find  security  in  my  about-to-be  paternal 
relation.  You  know  my  lucky  reverse  of  fortune.  On  my 
edatant  return  to  Mauchline,  I  was  made  very  welcome  to 
visit  my  girl.  The  usual  consequences  began  to  betray 
her ;  and  as  I  was  at  that  time  laid  up  a  cripple  in  Edin- 
burgh, she  was  turned,  literally  turned,  out  of  doors,  and 
I  wrote  to  a  friend  to  shelter  her  'till  my  return,  when  our 
marriage  was  declared.  Her  happiness  or  misery  were  in 
my  hands,  and  who  could  trifle  with  such  a  deposit  ? 

To  jealousy  or  infidelity  I  am  an  equal  stranger:  My 
preservative  from  the  first  is  the  most  thorough  conscious- 
ness of  her  sentiments  of  honor,  and  her  attachment  to  me ; 
my  antidote  against  the  last  is  my  long  and  deep-rooted 
affection  for  her.  I  can  easily/awiry  a  more  agreeable  com- 
panion for  my  journey  of  life,  but,  upon  my  honor,  I  have 
never  seen  the  individual  instance.  In  housewife  matters, 
of  aptness  to  learn  and  activity  to  execute,  she  is  eminently 
mistress;  and  during  my  absence  in  Nithsdale,  she  is 
regularly  and  constantly  apprentice  to  my  mother  and 
sisters  in  their  dairy  and  other  rural  business.  The  Muses 
must  not  be  offended  when  I  tell  them,  the  concerns  of  my 
wife  and  family  will,  in  my  mind,  always  take  the  pas  ;  but 
I  assure  them  their  ladyships  will  ever  come  next  in  place. 
Circumstanced  as  I  am,  I  could  never  have  got  a  female 


1 1  2  Correspondence  between 

partner,  for  life,  who  could  have  entered  into  my  favourite 
studies,  relished  my  favourite  authors,  etc.,  without  probably 
entailing  on  me,  at  the  same  time,  expensive  living,  fantastic 
caprice,  perhaps  apish  affectation,  with  all  the  other  blessed 
boarding-school  acquirements,  which  (^pardonnez  moi,  Ma- 
dame) are  sometimes  to  be  found  among  females  of  the 
upper  ranks,  but  almost  universally  pervade  the  misses  of 
the  would-be-gentry.  You  are  right,  that  a  bachelor  state 
would  have  insured  me  more  friends ;  but,  from  a  cause  you 
will  easily  guess,  conscious  peace  in  the  enjoyment  of  my 
own  mind,  and  unmistrusting  confidence  in  approaching 
my  God,  would  seldom  have  been  of  the  number. 

I  like  your  way  in  your  churchyard  lucubrations. 
Thoughts  that  are  the  spontaneous  result  of  accidental 
situations,  either  respecting  health,  place,  or  company,  have 
often  a  strength,  and  always  an  originality,  that  would  in 
vain  be  looked  for  in  fancied  circumstances  and  studied 
paragraphs.  For  me,  I  have  often  thought  of  keeping  a 
letter,  in  progression,  by  me,  to  send  you  when  the  sheet 
was  written  out.  Now  I  talk  of  sheets,  I  must  tell  you  my 
reason  for  writing  to  you  on  paper  of  this  kind  [folio],  is 
my  pruriency  of  writing  to  you  at  large.  A  page  of  post  is 
on  such  a  dissocial,  narrow-minded  scale,  that  I  cannot 
abide  it ;  and  double  letters,  at  least  in  my  miscellaneous 
reverie  manner,  are  a  monstrous  tax  in  a  close  corre- 
spondence. R.  B. 

(i)  This  letter  has  hitherto  been  dated  August, 
and  it  was  obviously  so  superscribed  by  the  poet, 
but  it  is  clearly  that  to  which  Mrs.  Dunlop  refers  in 
hers  of  22nd  July,  with  the  jocular  postscript,  "  How 
fast  time  flies  when  a  man  is  married !  " 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      1 1 3 

To  Burns. 

Haddington,  22nd July  [1788]. 

[Yours  was  Agt. ;  how  fast  time 
flies  when  a  man  is  married  !  ] 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  had  yours  yesterday,  and  would  be  truly 
pleased  with  and  vain  of  myself  could  anything  from  my 
hand  make  another  as  happy  as  I  felt  myself  at  sight  of 
the  large  sheet  and  the  flattering  idea  which  you  suggest 
that  you  have  another  advancing  on  its  way  to  succeed  it, 
and  will  now  and  then  favour  me  with  a  progressive  re- 
membrance of  the  miscellaneous  kind,  which  from  you 
will  always  be  something  new  —  the  name  of  the  very  last 
book  I  have  read,  and  some  parts  of  which  I  would  have 
liked  very  much  to  have  had  you  read  with  me,  as  I  was 
much  more  than  commonly  pleased  with  them  alone,  spite 
of  rather  too  marked  an  endeavour  to  appear  eccentrick. 
You  don't  tell  me  what  stay  you  make  in  Ayrshire.  I 
dare  not  wish  it  long,  now  that  I  fear  your  interest  ought 
to  fix  you  elsewhere,  for  you  know  the  old  adage  that  "  A 
rolling  stone  gathers  no  fog  "  [moss],  and  your  nest  seems  / 
as  it  would  require  to  be  fast  fogged  if  the  birds  continue  j 
to  hatch  thus  quick  in  braces.^  Children  are  said  to  be  | 
blessings.  May  my  friends  always  find  them  so  !  When  ' 
they  are  not  so  they  are  surely  the  bitterest  vexation  our 
hearts  can  know.  Alas  !  I  have  felt  the  poisonous  sting, 
and  I  think  this  must  have  been  the  hurt  that  Gavin 
Douglas  says  "Ten  years  in  Lemnos  Isle  made  Philoctetes 
skirle."  It  could  not  have  been  worth  while  to  do  it  so 
long  for  any  other  wound,  but  of  this  I  trust  you  shall  never 
be  a  judge.  God  forbid  you  should  !  I  am  persuaded 
you  deserve  to  be  happy,  and  I  hope  Providence  shall 
think  so  too.     Yet  sorry  I  am  to  think   the  scene  of  it 

VOL.  I. — 8 


114  Correspondence  between 

must  be  so  far  from  where  I  have  the  least  chance  to  wit- 
ness it.  However,  I  must  have  some  shift  fallen  upon  at 
least  to  be  present  with  you  upon  paper  at  EUisland.  You 
would  have  valued  my  letter  far  more  had  it  reached  you 
in  that  distant,  solitary  abode  than  when  it  dropt  in  amid 
the  circle  of  your  friends  at  Mossgiel,  where  you  were  per- 
fectly well  without  it,  and  I  even  suppose  every  faculty 
of  your  soul  so  wholly  employed  by  domestic  joy  and 
conscious  rectitude  that  I  wonder  you  even  thought  of 
answering  me  at  all.  Believe  I  feel  the  favour  and  am 
grateful,  but,  oh  Burns  !  do  you  remember  what  Hume  ^ 
makes  Lady  Randolph  say :  — "  Wretch  that  I  am,  at 
every  happy  mother  I  repine."  Yes,  the  tenderness  of 
your  mention  of  the  return  to  an  absent  wife  makes  my 
eyes  flow  and  my  heart  wring.  It  recalls  too  forcibly 
scenes  never,  ah  !  never  to  return  to  me.  I  weep  over  the 
joy  of  my  friend,  but  they  are  not  tears  of  envy.  Yet  this 
is  the  weakest  part  of  my  whole  soul.  'T  is  here  I  have 
really  felt  sorrow  unalloyed  by  hope,  and,  as  you  say,  not  a 
wish  to  gild  the  gloom  unless  like  you  I  change  my  state, 
which  I  trust  shall  never  happen  in  this  world,  as  it  cer- 
tainly would  be  for  the  worse  to  my  family  and  fame,  and 
so  could  never  be  to  the  better  for  my  happiness,  spite  of 
my  maxim  which  you  laughed  so  much  at,  that  a  woman 
is  always  a  helpless  waif  and  unprotected  single,  and  like 
unsticked  [unstaked]  pease  bladed  [fouled]  with  every 
blast  —  of  very  little  comfort  to  herself,  or  consequence  to 
others.  Heaven  knows  how  different  I  felt  the  world  while 
I  met  it  my  father's  daughter  or  ray  husband's  wife.  Yet 
I  ought  not  to  complain.  The  world  owes  me  nought. 
I  never  liked  it  at  its  best,  but  dearly  well  I  have  liked  a 
few   friends  in  it,  and  most  kindly  they  have  repaid  my 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      1 1 5 


affection  with  double  interest.  Would  to  God  this  may  be 
my  liferent  annuity  as  far  as  yet  remains  of  it,  and  the 
rest  restored  in  reversion  hereafter.  My  children  support 
me  nobly,  and  't  is  thus  I  hope  to  be  surrounded  above, 
where  even  a  prodigal  can  add  joy  to  the  Father's  feast, 
nor  could  less  than  heavenly  joy  compensate  the  anxious 
vigils  of  a  Father's  broken  heart.  Our  Father  which  art 
in  heaven,  Thy  will  be  done  !  Of  thirteen  thou  hast  given 
me,  three  Thou  hast  already  appointed  their  parent's  har-  / 
bingers  above.  If  Thy  wisdom  sees  fit  to  demand  a  tithe  I 
of  those  that  remain,  shall  I  dare  murmur  at  the  destination ' 
of  that  Power  who  has  blest  me  in  so  many,  and  shall  I  not  i 
gratefully  acknowledge  that  my  Andrew  himself  has  been 
to  me  better  than  seven  sons?  My  girls,  too,  have  been 
to  me  all  I  could  wish,  only  that  they  have  not  yet  been 
well  married,  which  I  must  still  say  I  think  the  true  end  of 
a  woman's  creation.  I  suppose  you  are  not  to  be  in  Edin- 
burgh now,  since  you  don't  say  so.  I  am  sorry  for  it,  as 
I  must  be  tied  still  here,  or  at  Morhame,  the  name  of  my 
son's  farm,  according  to  the  indolence  or  expedition  of 
your  namesake,  who  is  the  undertaker  for  his  house,  and 
ought  to  have  had  it  ready  three  months  ago.  But  the 
delay  in  the  business  I  came  on  makes  me  more  uneasie. 
I  wish  to  God  it  were  well  over  !  Yet  half  your  wealth 
there  will  content  me,  but  even  for  that  I  must  still  wait  a 
great  while,  at  least  all  next  month.  I  am  sure  your  wife 
should  not  be  jealous  of  the  Muses.  These  good  old 
maiden  aunts  have  already  showed  their  kindness  to  her 
offspring,  and  I  hope  have  yet  much  in  store  for  them,  if 
Creech  or  some  other  such  young  fellow  don't  insidiously 
purloin  their  presents.  They  have,  too,  for  once  appeared 
in   the    good-natured    light   of    marriage-making,    a   very 


1 1 6  Correspondence  between 

singular  one  for  elderly  single  ladies,  but  indeed  in  their 
connection  with  you  all  has  been  extraordinary.  Nor  do 
I  know  how  sufficiently  to  thank  them  for  having  in- 
troduced to  my  acquaintance  the  most  original  character 
I  shall  perhaps  ever  have  an  opportunity  of  admiring. 
Allow  me  to  say  you  seem  to  build  resolve  on  something 
superiour  still  to  reason,  and  support  the  majesty  of  man  on 
columns  of  nobler  elevation  than  the  fairest  Corinthian 
order.  You  have  already  built  yourself  like  Absolom  a 
pillar,  tho'  not  for  the  same  reason  he  did,  and  I  cannot 
help  transcribing  the  inscription  Lady  Dundonald  applyed 
to  Commissioner  Rhodes,  in  case  you  never  heard  it :  — 

The  mausoleum  and  the  bust-room  fall  and  crumble  into  dust; 
My  faithful  memory  shall  be  a  living  monument  for  thee. 

I  had  a  letter  the  other  day  from  my  poor  Anthony. 
He  says  he  is  afraid  when  you  speak  of  him  you  only 
mean  an  oblique  compliment  through  him  to  me,  for  he 
wrot  you  three  months  ago,  but  you  never  had  time  to 
write  him.  These  are  his  words  and  way  of  marking  them. 
Poor  fellow  !  He  has  met  a  very  great  disappointment 
just  now,  in  which  I  heartily  share  with  him.  Indeed,  I 
did  not  think  I  could  have  been  so  much  interested  in  any 
thing  whatever.  I  have  been  reading  Montrose's  Memoirs 
to  put  it  out  of  my  head.  I  wish  I  had  something  of  yours. 
No  writer  ever  yet  stole  so  sweetly  on  my  attention  as  some 
of  your  pieces  have  already  done,  and  surely  the  influence 
ought  to  increase  in  the  same  ratio  with  my  esteem  and 
sincere  good  wishes  for  their  writer.  I  'm  sure  I  am  glad 
to  think  you  are  happy;  yet  I  believe  that  very  idea 
bursts  a  strong  connection  fancy  had  formed  while  I  be- 
lieved you  wretched,  disappointed,  and  your  mind  a  void 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      1 1 7 

like  my  own.  Misery  expects  from  misery  sympathy  and 
indulgence  in  her  capricious,  wayward  moods,  which  she 
knows  prosperity  and  ease  forever  disclaim.  Thus,  tho' 
I  never  w'as  more  pleased  with  you  than  I  am  at  this 
moment,  I  feel  a  restraint  hitherto  unknown  in  expressing 
myself,  and  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  worse  pleased  with  this 
letter  than  any  I  ever  wrot  you.  Yet  should  it  be  so,  I 
can  no  way  help  it,  for  this  is,  as  well  as  the  rest,  the  real 
image  of  myself  at  the  instant  of  drawing  it,  and  if  any- 
thing in  the  picture  is  still  favoured  with  your  partiality, 
you  will  have  pleasure  in  now  and  then  drawing  a  melan- 
choly note  from  the  inclosed  fiddle  in  remembrance  of  me. 
But,  as  it  is  only  in  a  questionable  shape  just  now,  and  may 
be  transmogrified  as  much  as  you  please,  only  honour  it 
with  your  friendly  acceptance,  and  tune  it  up  to  whatever 
is  most  in  character  of  your  friend  or  in  unison  with  your- 
self, always  considering  that,  as  the  gift  of  a  friend  is  the 
reverse  of  every  sacrifice  to  vanity,  it  ought  to  be  conse- 
crated either  to  use  or  pleasure  allennerly  [only].  Mean- 
while, forgive  my  taking  this  liberty  of  offering  a  trifle  in 
the  only  way  I  have  it  in  my  power.  'T  is  a  Scots  super- 
stition to  believe  a  bargain  always  turns  out  much  the 
better  for  being  followed  with  a  luckpenny.  I  'm  sure 
nobody  wishes  more  sincerely  that  Mrs.  Bums  and  you  may 
never  be  worse  pleased  with  yours  than  at  present.  I 
therefore  could  not  forgive  myself  had  I  omitted  that  part 
which,  by  the  custom  of  all  times  and  nations,  friends  are 
authorised  to  take  in  order  not  to  hurt  the  future  fortune 
of  their  newly  shackled  neighbours,  friends,  or  acquaint- 
ances in  all  ranks  and  degrees  of  life,  and  which  is  re- 
garded as  a  pledge  of  future  goodwill  to  the  contracted 
pair.     So,  your  displeasure  being  less  tremendous  than  my 


1 1 8  Correspondence  between 

own,  I  have  ventured,  even  at  the  risk  of  it,  to  send  you 
a  ^5  card  from  the  Thistle  Bank.     I  am  wrong,  as  Lord 
Bankton  ^  said  when  his  fourth  wife  mist  one  napkin  of  a 
dozen  fine  ones  in  a  parcel.     "  My  dr.,  when  my  last  wife 
was  buried,  I  forgot  to  draw  it  out  in  putting  her  corpse 
into  the  coffin.     I  shall  behave  better  next  time."     Fare- 
well.    The  only   extraordinary    thing  I  have  met  since  I 
wrot  you  last  was  having  much  obliged  a  man  who  had 
never  spoke  to  me  for  an  hour.     At  last  he  broke  out  in 
an   eager  exclamation :  "  O  madam,   if  you  but  saw  the 
dead  men's  bones  on  Gladsmure  ! "     They   are   just   five 
inches  below  the  ground,  and  their  teeth  is  like  the  very 
driven  snow."     Forasmuch  as  you  are   a  poet,  I  do  not 
think  you  can  form  any  idea  of  the  pleasure  I  felt  in  this 
address,  or  the  reasons  from  whence  it  sprung,  nor  have  I 
paper   to    tell   you.      Only,    the   poor   fellow   was   young, 
handsome,  dying  of  a  consumption,  and  losing  a  leg  in 
a  white  swelling.      This  was  a  stage-coach   adventure.     I 
never  saw  him  before  or  since.     Write  me  soon,  and  oblige, 
Dr.  Sir,  your  sincere  friend  and  humble  sert. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  On  3rd  March  1788  Jean  Armour  gave  birth 
to  twin  daughters,  who  survived  only  a  short  time. 

(2)  John  Home's  (pronounced  Hume)  tragedy, 
Douglas. 

(3)  William  M'Douall,  a  Lord  of  Session,  author 
of  an  Institute  of  the  Law  of  Scotland. 

(4)  The  battle  of  Prestonpans,  when  Prince  Charles 
Edward  defeated  General  Sir  John  Cope  in  1745,  is 
called  alternatively  Gladsmuir,  having  been  fought  in 
the  East  Lothian  parish  of  that  name. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      1 1 9 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Mauchline,  2nd  Augtist  1788. 

Honored  Madam,  —  Your  kind  letter  welcomed  me 
yesternight  to  Ayrshire.  I  am,  indeed,  seriously  angry 
with  you  at  the  quantum  of  your  luckpenny  ;  but  vexed  and 
hurt  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  laughing  very  heartily  at  the 
noble  lord's  apology  for  the  missed  napkin. 

I  would  write  you  from  Nithsdale,  and  give  you  my 
direction  there,  but  I  have  scarce  an  opportunity  of  calling 
at  a  post-office  once  in  a  fortnight.  I  am  six  miles  from 
Dumfries,  am  scarcely  ever  in  it  myself,  and,  as  yet,  have 
little  acquaintance  in  the  neighbourhood.  Besides,  I  am 
now  very  busy  on  my  farm,  building  a  dwelling-house ;  as 
at  present  I  am  almost  an  evangelical  man  in  Nithsdale, 
for  I  have  scarce  "where  to  lay  my  head." 

There  are  some  passages  in  your  last  that  brought  tears 
to  my  eyes.  "  The  heart  knoweth  its  own  sorrows,  and  a 
stranger  intermeddleth  not  therewith."  The  repository  of 
these  "  sorrows  of  the  heart  "  is  a  kind  of  sanctum  sanc- 
torum ;  and  't  is  only  a  chosen  friend,  and  that  too  at  par- 
ticular, sacred  times,  who  dares  enter  into  them. 

Heav'n  oft  tears  the  bosom-chords 
That  nature  finest  strung. 

You  will  excuse  this  quotation  for  the  sake  of  the  author. 
Instead  of  entering  on  this  subject  further,  I  shall  transcribe 
you  a  few  lines  I  wrote  in  a  hermitage  belonging  to  a  gentle- 
man in  my  Nithsdale  neighbourhood.  They  are  almost  the 
only  favors  the  muses  have  conferred  on  me  in  that  country. 

Thou  whom  Chance  may  hither  lead,^ 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole, 
Grave  these  maxims  on  thy  soul. 


120  Correspondence  between 

Life  is  but  a  Day  at  most ; 
Sprung  from  Night  —  in  Darkness  lost : 
Hope  not  Sunshine  every  hour, 
Fear  not  clouds  will  ever  lour. 
Happiness  is  but  a  name, 
Make  Content  and  Ease  thy  aim. 
Ambition  is  a  meteor-gleam ; 
Fame  a  restless,  idle  dream  ; 
Pleasures,  insects  on  the  wing 
Round  Peace,  the  tenderest  flower  of  Spring; 
Those  that  sip  the  dew  alone. 
Make  the  Butterflies  thy  own  ; 
Those  that  would  the  bloom  devour, 
Crush  the  Locusts,  save  the  Flower. 
For  the  Future  be  prepar'd. 
Guard,  wherever  thou  can'st  guard; 
But  thy  Utmost  duly  done, 
Welcome  what  thou  can'st  not  shun. 
Follies  past,  give  thou  to  air  ; 
Make  their  Consequence  thy  care. 
Keep  the  name  of  Man  in  mind. 
And  dishonour  not  thy  kind. 
Reverence,  with  lowly  heart, 
Him  whose  wondrous  Work  thou  art ; 
Keep  His  Goodness  still  in  view, 
Thy  trust,  and  thy  example  too. 
Stranger,  go  !     Heaven  be  thy  guide  ! 
Quod  the  Beads-mane  of  Nithe-side. 

Since  I  am  in  the  way  of  transcribing,  the  following  were 
the  production  of  yesterday,  as  I  jogged  through  the  wild 
hills  of  New  Cumnock.  I  intend  inserting  them,  or  some- 
thing like  them,  in  an  epistle  I  am  going  to  write  to  the 
gentleman  on  whose  friendship  my  excise  hopes  depend, 
Mr.  Graham  of  Fintry ;  one  of  the  worthiest  and  most  ac- 
complished gentlemen,  not  only  of  this  country,  but  I  will 
dare  to  say  it,  of  this  age.  The  following  are  just  the  first 
crude  thoughts,  "  unhouselVl,  unanointed,  unaneal'd." 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      121 

Pity  the  tuneful  muses'  helpless  train  ;  2 

Weak,  timid  landsmen  on  life's  stormy  main : 

The  worfd  were  blest,  did  bliss  on  them  depend  ; 

Ah,  that  "  the  friendly  e'er  should  want  a  friend  I  " 

The  little  fate  bestows  they  share  as  soon ; 

Unlike  sage,  proverb'd  wisdom's  hard-wrung  boon. 

Let  prudence  number  o'er  each  sturdy  son 

Who  life  and  wisdom  at  one  race  begun ; 

Who  feel  by  reason,  and  who  give  by  rule ; 

Instinct 's  a  brute  and  sentiment  a  fool  ! 

Who  make  poor  "  will  do  "  wait  upon  "  I  should ;  " 

We  own  they  're  prudent,  but  who  owns  they  're  good  ? 

Ye  wise  ones,  hence !  ye  hurt  the  social  eye  ; 
God's  image  rudely  etched  on  base  alloy  ! 
But  come 

Here  the  Muse  left  me.  I  am  astonished  at  what  you  tell 
me  of  Anthony's  writing  me.  I  never  received  it.  Poor 
fellow  !  You  vex  me  much  by  telling  me  that  he  is  un- 
fortunate. I  shall  be  in  Ayrshire  ten  days  from  this  date. 
I  have  just  room  for  an  old  Roman  farewell !       R.  B. 

(i)  This  is  the  first  version  of  the  verses  "  Written 
in  Friar's  Carse  Hermitage,"  that  which  was  inscribed 
on  a  window-pane  in  the  Hermitage,  and  entered  in 
the  Edinburgh  Commonplace  Book. 

(2)  These  lines  were  incorporated  in  the  "First 
Epistle  to  Robert  Graham,  Esq." 

[To  Miss  Rachel  Dunlop.] 

Mauchline,  2d  August  "^  1788. 

Madam,  —  I  was  in  Nithsdale  when  your  kind  present 
and  kinder  letter  came  to  Mauchline,  so  did  not  see  it  till 
yesternight  that  I  came  here. 


122  Correspondence  between 

I  am  in  perpetual  warfare  with  that  doctrine  of  our  rev- 
erend priesthood,  that  "  we  are  born  into  this  world  bond- 
slaves of  iniquity  and  heirs  of  perdition,  wholly  inclined  to 
that  which  is  evil,  and  wholly  disinclined  to  that  which  is 
good,  untill  by  a  kind  of  spiritual  filtration  or  rectifying 
process  called  effectual  Calling,"  etc.,  the  whole  business  is 
reversed,  and  our  connections  above  and  below  completely 
change  place.  I  believe  in  my  conscience  that  the  case  is 
just  quite  contrary.  We  come  into  this  world  with  a  heart 
and  disposition  to  do  good  for  it,  untill  by  dashing  a  large 
mixture  of  base  alloy  called  prudence  alias  selfishness,  the 
too  precious  metal  of  the  soul  is  brought  down  to  the  black- 
guard sterling  of  ordinary  currency.  This,  I  take  it,  is  the 
reason  why  we  of  the  Barbarian  sex,  who  are  so  much  called 
out  to  act  on  that  profligate  stage  the  World,  come  so  far 
short  of  your  gentler  kind  who  bear  on  much  richer  mate- 
rials an  equally  more  elegant  impression  and  image  of 
infinite  purity,  goodness,  and  truth.  As  I  am  a  married 
man,  neither  my  knowledge  of  facts  or  impartial  testimony 
can  be  doubted ;  and  while  I  can  produce  your  kind  cor- 
respondence with  the  poet,  or  in  general  while  I  can  name 
Mrs.  Dunlop  with  all  her  daughters  I  can  be  at  no  loss  for 
coroborative  evidence. 

Mrs.  B.  begs  me  to  return  to  you  her  most  gratefull 
thanks  for  your  elegant  little  work  the  Cap.  She  says  she 
will  be  hard  pushed  indeed  for  family  linens  if  she  do  not 
make  your  cap  grace  the  head  of  her  hindmost  child,  tho' 
she  should  have  a  score.  I  rejoice  in  Coila's  progress  to 
perfection,  tho'  you  have  awaked  my  curiosity  much  to  pay 
her  my  grateful  respects  again ;  but  when  that  curiosity  will  be 
gratified  heaven  knows.  —  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  madam, 
your  obt,  hbl.  servant,  (Signed)  Robt.  Burns. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Duniop      123 

(i)  This  letter  exists  in  the  Lochryan  MSS.  in  the 
form  of  what  purports  to  be  a  copy  of  an  original 
Burns  letter,  with  at  the  end  the  initials  J.  A.  M.  or 
W.,  and  the  docket  in  another  hand,  "A  letter  of 
Robt.  Burns  the  Poet  to  Mrs.  Duniop."  If  it  is  cor- 
rectly dated,  it  cannot  have  been  addressed  to  Mrs. 
Duniop,  seeing  that  the  authenticity  of  the  letter  to 
her  of  the  same  date  (see  p.  1 19)  is  not  disputed ; 
and  the  reference  to  Coila,  if  not  also  the  allusion  to 
the  transition  stage  between  Ayrshire  and  Ellisland, 
fix  it  down  to  the  year  1788.  We  have  ventured 
to  assign  the  letter  —  which  is  obviously  genuine 
Burns  —  to  Rachel  Duniop,  who,  living  with  her 
brother  at  Duniop,  was  likely  to  have  heard  of 
the  poet's  marriage  from  the  Major  at  least  as  soon 
as  her  mother,  and  might  well  have  sent  a  congrat- 
ulatory letter  w^ith  a  cap  for  Mrs.  Burns,  at  the 
same  time  reporting  progress  on  her  interminable 
picture  of  Coila.  The  allusion  in  the  text  to  "  Mrs. 
Duniop  with  all  her  daughters,"  combined  with  the 
preservation  of  the  copy  at  Lochryan,  makes  it 
certain  that  the  letter  was  addressed  to  one  of  the 
family. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robt.  Burns,  at  Mossgill, 
near  Mauchline. 

MoRHAME  Mains,!  q^^  ^gf^  j^gS. 

Dr.  Sir,  —  You  will  not  grudge  to  pay  for  one  letter  from 
me  rather  than  believe  me  forgetful  of  your  goodness  to  me, 
which  must  appear  were  I  not  to  put  you  to  that  expense, 
and  catch  the  few  days  of  your  abode  in  Ayrshire  to  tell 


I  24  Correspondence  between 


you  that  owing  to  the  absence  of  Mr.  Kerr  it  will  not  be  in 
my  power  to  write  again  for  some  weeks ;  so  much  I  stand 
in  awe  of  Mr.  Pitt.     Never  an  advice  came  better  timed 
than  yours  to   "welcome   what  we  cannot  shun,"    and    I 
endeavour  to  follow  it  to  my  utmost,  as  I  do  all  your  moral 
lessons  in  sickness  and  in  health,  still  praying  for  the  pros- 
perity of  my  teacher.     But  since  I  wrote  you  last  I  have 
been  sadly  tost  about ;  first  a  fever,  which  left  me  lame  of 
one  foot ;  and  now  I  am  but  just  able  to  limp  about  in  the 
jaundice,  in  which  situation  I  last  night  left  Haddington  to 
come  here,  where  amid  sickness,  hurry,  and  confusion,  the 
sight  of  green  fields  around  me,  your  letter  in  my  pocket, 
and  the  kindness  of  my  young  friends  is  a  great  comfort. 
Nor  does  your  Muse  ever  spread  her  wing  in  vain  for  me. 
Still,  I  will  hope  some  chance  unseen  by  us  may  once  more 
fix  her  eyrie  near  me,  for  I  own  I  cannot  unmoved  resign 
our  beadsman  to  Nithside.     I  am  surprised  and  sorry  you 
have  not  got  Anthony's  letter,  which  I  am  sure  came  safe 
to  Edr.,  and  I  beUeve  was  accompany'd  with  a  book.    I  am 
sure  there  was  something   along  with  it,  but    I    fear   my 
daughter  Susie  has  been  careless  to  whom  they  were  sent. 
I  wrote  her  that  if  they  went  to  Wilson  at  Kilmarnock  you 
would  get  them.    It  will  be  charity  to  write  me,  be  it  rhyme 
or  reason,  as  the  saying  is,  while  I  am  thus  confined.     You 
see  I  can  hardly  hold  the  pen,  but  don't  mention  my  illness ; 
't  is  a  secret  I  shall  keep  from  my  family  at  home  for  their 
happiness,  as  I  am  also  assured  there  is  no  danger  now. 
Direct  to  me  at  Morhame  Mains,  near  Haddington,  and 
should  you  finish  your  address  to  the  man  I  at  present  envy 
most  [Mr.  Graham],  do  send  it  me.     I  cannot  now  point 
out  all  I  admire  in  the  things  you  sent  me  last.     You  are 
angry  at  the  quantum  of  my  luckpenny.     Upon  my  soul  so 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      125 

am  I  too,  though  for  perhaps  different  causes.     Adieu,  dear 
sir,  your  sincerely  obUged,  obedient,  humble  sert. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)    John  Dunlop  had  now  entered  into  possession 
of  his  new  farm-house  at  Morham. 


To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Ellisland,  idth  August  1788. 

I  am  in  a  fine  disposition,  my  honored  friend,  to  send 
you  an  elegaic  epistle  ;  and  want  only  genius  to  make  it 
quite  Shenstonian. 

Why  droops  my  heart  with  fancied  woes  forlorn  ?  ^ 
Why  sinks  my  soul  beneath  each  wintry  sky  ? 

or,  in  the  more  homely  poetry  of  the  Psalms  of  David  i?t 
Metre, 

Why  art  thou  [then]  cast  down,  my  soul  ? 

What  should  discourage  thee  ? 

My  increasing  cares  in  this,  as  yet,  strange  country — 
gloomy  conjectures  in  the  dark  vista  of  futurity  —  con- 
sciousness of  my  own  inability  for  the  struggle  of  the  world 
—  my  broadened  mark  to  misfortune  in  a  wife  and  chil- 
dren :  —  I  could  indulge  these  [reflections],  nay,  they 
press  for  indulgence,  'till  my  humour  would  ferment  into 
the  most  acid  vinegar  of  chagrin  that  would  corrode  the 
very  thread  of  life. 

To  counterwork  these  baneful  feelings,  I  have  sat  down 
to  write  to  you  ;  as  I  declare  upon  my  soul  I  always  find  that 
the  most  sovereign  balm  under  Heaven  for  my  wounded 
spirit. 


I  26  Correspondence  between 

I  was  yesterday  at  Mr.  Miller's  ^  to  dinner,  [for]  the  first 
time  since  1  had  been  his  tenant.  My  reception  was  quite 
to  my  mind ;  from  the  lady  of  the  house  quite  flattering. 
I  believe  in  my  conscience  that  she  respects  me  more  on 
account  of  my  marrying  a  woman  in  circumstances  some- 
what similar  to  her  own,  when  she  commenced  Mrs.  Miller. 
See  what  it  is  to  be  rich  !  I  was  going  to  add,  and  to  be 
great,  but  to  be  rich  is  to  be  great.  She  sometimes  hits  on 
a  couplet  or  two,  impromptu.  She  repeated  one  or  two  to 
the  admiration  of  all  present.  My  suffrage,  as  a  profes- 
sional man,  was  expected  :  I  for  once  went  agonising  over 
the  belly  of  my  conscience.  Pardon  me,  ye,  my  adored 
household  gods.  Independence  of  spirit  and  Integrity  of 
soul !  In  the  course  of  conversation,  Johnson's  Musical 
Museum,  a  collection  of  Scots  songs  with  the  music,  was 
talked  of.  We  got  a  song  on  the  harpsichord,  beginning 
"  Raving  winds  around  her  blowing."  ^  The  air  was  much 
admired  :  the  lady  of  the  house  asked  me  whose  were  the 
words  :  "  mine,  madam  —  they  are  indeed  my  very  best 
verses  "  :  sacfe  Dieu  ;  she  took  not  the  smallest  notice  of 
them  !  The  old  Scottish  proverb  says  well,  "  King's  caff 
is  better  than  ither  folk's  corn."  I  was  going  to  make  a  New 
Testament  quotation  about  "  casting  pearls,"  but  that  would 
be  too  virulent,  for  the  lady  is  actually  a  woman  of  sense 
and  taste ;  a  proof,  if  the  subject  needed,  that  these  said 
two  qualities,  so  useful  and  ornamental  to  human  nature, 
are  by  no  means  inseparably  of  the  family  of  Gules,  Purpure, 
Argent,  Or,  etc. 

After  all  that  has  been  said  on  the  other  side  of  the 
question,  man  is  by  no  means  a  happy  creature.  I  do  not 
speak  of  the  selected  few,  favored  by  partial  Heaven,  whose 
souls  are  tuned  to  gladness  amid  riches  and  honours,  and 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      i  27 

prudence   and  wisdom.     I   speak  of  the  neglected  many, 
whose  nerves,  whose  sinews,  whose  days,  whose  thoughts, 
whose  independence,  whose  peace,  nay,  whose  very  gratifi- 
cation and  enjoyments  are  sacrificed  and  sold  to  these  few  ' 
bloated  minions  of  fortune.  J 

If  I  thought  you  had  never  seen  it,  I  would  transcribe  for 
you  a  stanza  of  an  old  Scots  ballad  called  The  life  and  age 
of  jnan,'^  beginning  thus  — 

'T  was  in  the  sixteenth  hunder  year 

Of  God  and  fifty-three, 
Frae  Christ  was  born,  that  bought  us  dear. 

As  writings  testifie. 

I  had  an  old  grand-uncle,  with  whom  my  mother  lived  a 
while  in  her  girlish  years ;  the  good  old  man,  for  such  he 
was,  was  long  blind  ere  he  died,  during  which  time  his 
most  voluptuous  enjoyment  was  to  sit  down  and  cry,  while 
my  mother  would  sing  the  simple  old  song  of  The  life  and 
age  of  man. 

It  is  this  way  of  thinking,  it  is  these  melancholy  truths,  1 
that  make  religion  so  precious  to  the  poor,  miserable  chil- 
dren of  men.     If  it  is  a  mere  phantom  existing  only  in  the 
heated  imagination  of  enthusiasm. 

What  truth  on  earth  so  precious  as  the  lie  ? 

My  idle  reasonings  sometimes  make  me  a  little  sceptical, 
but  the  necessities  of  my  heart  always  give  the  cold  phi-       ^ 
losophisings  the  lie.     Who  looks  for  the  heart  weaned  from        \ 
earth ;  the  soul  affianced  to  her  God ;  the  correspondence 
fixed   with  Heaven;    the    pious    supplication    and    devout 
thanksgiving,    constant   as    the    vicissitudes    of    even   and 
morn ;  who    thinks    to    meet  with  these   in  the  court,  the  > 
palace,  in  the  glare  of  public  hfe  ?     No :  to  find  them  in 


128  Correspondence  between 

their  precious  importance  and  divine  efficacy,  we  must 
search  among  the  obscure  recesses  of  disappointment, 
affliction,  poverty,  and  distress. 

I  am  sure,  dear  madam,  you  are  now  7nore  than  pleased 
with  the  length  of  my  letters.  I  return  to  Ayrshire,  middle 
of  next  week ;  and  it  quickens  my  pace  to  think  that 
there  will  be  a  letter  from  you  waiting  me  there.  I  must 
be  here  again  very  soon  for  my  harvest.  I  am  really  afraid 
you  will  wish  me  to  return  to  my  post -sheet  again.  I  have 
the  honor  to  be  most  sincerely  and  gratefully,  Madam,  your 
humble  servt.,  Robt.  Burns. 

(i)  Free  quotation  of  the  commencement  of  Shen- 
stone's  Twentieth  Elegy. 

(2)  At  Dalswinton  House. 

(3)  Burns's  song  with  that  title  in  the  second 
volume    of  the  Museum. 

(4)  The  Life  and  Age  of  Man  was  a  popular 
chap-book. 

Ad.  Mrs.  DuNLOP  of  Dunlop, 
at  Moreham  Mains,  by  Haddington. 

Mauchline,  2\st  Ajtgtist  1788. 
I  came  to  Ayrshire  yesternight,  my  much-esteemed 
friend,  and  found  your  very  alarming  letter  waiting  me. 
My  father  used  to  say,  that  in  his  whole  life,  whatever  he 
was  fondly  set  on,  almost  always  failed  him.  I  am  afraid 
it  is  all  the  heritage  he  has  left  me.  Since  my  Ambition 
dared  to  hope  for  your  correspondence  and  friendship, 
the  enthusiasm  of  Attachment  has  grown  on  me,  till  the 
enjoyment  of  your  friendship  is  entwisted  with  my  very 
enjoyment  of  Life ;  and   your  last  letter  has  given  me  a 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      i  29 

thousand  terrors.  I  shall  be  here  for  ten  days,  and  I  con- 
jure you  to  write  me  ever  so  short  a  scrap  to  inform  me 
if  you  are  getting  rid  of  that  ugly  Distemper.  To  quit  this 
disagreeable  subject ;  the  following  is  the  first  Compliment 
I  have  paid  the  Nith,  and  was  the  work  of  an  hour  as  I 
jogged  up  his  banks  yesterday  morning.  The  idea  is  a 
young  gentleman  perhaps  going  abroad.  I  do  not  affirm 
it  has  merit :  the  fact  is,  an  author  is  by  no  means  a  com- 
petent judge  of  his  own  composition ;  at  least  till  the  hey- 
day of  Novelty  evaporate. 

The  Thames  flows  proudly  to  the  sea, 

Where  royal  cities  stately  stand  ; 
But  sweeter  flows  the  Nith,  to  me, 

Where  Cummins^  ance  had  high  command: 
When  shall  I  see  that  distant  Land, 

That  winding  Stream  I  love  sae  dear ! 
Must  cruel  Fortune's  adverse  hand, 

For  ever,  ever  keep  me  here ! 

Fair  spread,  O  Nith,  thy  flowery  dales. 

Where  rove  the  flocks  amang  the  broom ; 
And  richly  wave  thy  fruitful  vales, 

Surrounded  by  the  hawthorns'  bloom  : 
Tho'  wandering  now  must  be  my  doom, 

Far  from  thy  bony  banks  and  braes  ; 
There  may  my  latest  hours  consume, 

With  those  my  friends  of  early  days ! 

You  would  know  an  Ayrshire  lad,  Sandy  Bell,  who  made 
a  Jamaica  fortune,  and  died  some  time  ago.  A  William 
Miller,^  formerly  a  Mason,  now  a  Merchant  in  this  place, 
married  a  sister-german  of  Bell's  for  the  sake  of  a  ;^500 
her  brother  had  left  her.  A  sister  of  Miller's,  who  was  then 
Tenant  of  my  heart  for  the  time  being,  huffed  my  Bard- 
ship  in  the  pride  of  her  new  connection;  and  I,  in  the 

VOL.  I. — 9 


130  Correspondence  between 

heat  of  my  resentment    resolved  to  burlesque    the  whole 
business,  and  began  as  follows  :  — 

THE   MAUCHLINE   WEDDING^ 
I 

When  Eighty-five  was  seven  month  auld, 

And  wearing  thro'  the  aught,  eighth 

When  rotting  rains  and  Boreas  bauld 

Gied  farmer-folks  a  faught ;  gave,  fight 

Ae  morning  quondam  Mason  Will, 

Now  Merchant  Master  Miller, 
Gaed  down  to  meet  wi'  Nansie  Bell  went 

And  her  Jamaica  siller,  money 

To  wed,  that  day. 


The  rising  sun  o'er  Blacksideen  * 

Was  just  appearing  fairly, 
When  Nell  and  Bess  ^  get  up  to  dress, 

Seven  lang  half  hours  o'er  early !  too 

Now  presses  clink  and  drawers  jink, 

For  linnens  and  for  laces ; 
But  modest  Muses  only  thitik 

What  ladies'  underdress  is, 

On  sic  a  day.  such 

3 

But  we  '11  suppose  the  stays  are  lac'd, 

And  bony  bosom  steekit ;  hid 

Tho',  thro'  the  lawn  — but  guess  the  rest  — 
An  Angel  scarce  durst  keekit :  peeped 

Then  stockins  fine,  o'  silken  twine, 

Wi'  cany  care  are  drawn  up  ;  prudent 

And  garten'd  tight  whare  mortal  wight 

As  I  never  wrote  it  down,  my  recollection  does  not  entirely 
serve  me. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      1 3 1 


4 

But  now  the  gown,  wi'  rustling  sound, 

Its  silken  ^  pomp  displays ; 
Sure  there 's  nae  sin  in  being  vain 

O'  siccan  bony  claes  !  such 

Sae  jimp  the  waist,  the  tail  sae  vast  — 

Trouth,  they  were  bony  Birdies ! 
O  Mither  Eve,  ye  wad  been  grave 

To  see  their  ample  hurdles  haunches 

Sae  large  that  day  1  !  1 

5 
Then  Sandy  ^  wi's  red  jacket  bra' 

Comes,  whip  —  jee  —  woa!  about, 
And  in  he  gets  the  bony  twa  — 

Lord  send  them  safely  out ! 
And  auld  John  ^  Trot  wi'  sober  phiz 

As  braid  and  bra 's  a  Bailie,  fine 

His  shouthers  and  his  Sunday's  giz  wig 

Wi'  powther  and  wi'  ulzie  oil 

Weel  smear'd  that  day. 

Against  my  Muse  had  come  thus  far,  Miss  Bess  and  I 
were  once  more  in  unison,  so  I  thought  no  more  of  the 
Piece.  Tho'  the  folks  are  rather  uppish,  they  are  such  as 
I  did  not  chuse  to  expose,  so  I  think  this  is  about  the 
second  time  I  ever  scrawled  it. 

I  wish  these  trifles  may  find  you  in  a  disposition  to  relish  it. 

Adieu  !  Heaven  send  you  more  exhilarating  moments 
than  I  fear  you  at  present  enjoy  !  Robt.  Burns. 

(i)  My  landlord,  Mr.  Miller,  is  building  a  house  by  the  banks  of 
the  Nith,  just  on  the  ruins  of  the  Cummin's  Castle.  —  R.  B. 

This  is  the  first  draft  of  the  song  "  The  Banks  of 
Nith,"  which  makes  No.  295  of  Johnson,  vol.  3. 
Numerous  alterations  were  made  in  the  text  before 
it  was  sent  to  Johnson. 


132  Correspondence  between 

(2)  William  Miller,  a  Mauchline  friend  of  Burns. 

(3)  This  squib  was  first  published  from  this  MS. 
in  the  Centenary  edition,  1896. 

(4)  A  hill.  —  R.  B. 

(5)  Miller's  two  sisters.  —  R.  B.     Both  were  "  Mauchline  Belles." 

(6)  The  ladies'  first  silk  gowns,  got  for  the  occasion.  —  R.  B. 

(7)  Driver  of  the  post-chaise. —  R.  B. 

(8)  M 's  father.  —  R.  B. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  Mossgill, 
near  Mauchline. 

MoRHAM  Mains. 
{Postmarked  28  Aug.  1788.] 

Dr.  Burns,  —  I  have  had  both  your  kind  letters  and  you 
insist  in  so  very  obliging  a  manner  to  hear  from  me  that, 
although  I  am  ashamed  to  pick  your  pocket  to  fill  King 
George's  private  purse,  I  cannot  omit  writing.  To  disap- 
point the  expectations  of  a  friend  is  always  contrary  to  my 
principle,  and  on  this  occasion  quite  contrary  to  my  inclina- 
tion. There  is  in  your  correspondence  a  certain  yV  ne  sais 
quoi  that  secures  you  against  the  most  overpowering  insolence 
of  your  friends ;  at  least  I  find  it  so.  In  short,  yours  are 
the  letters  of  a  poet,  breathed  from  the  heart  of  a  Christian, 
and  transcribed  by  the  hand  of  a  man  who  writes  strong 
full  text,  and  there  is  no  mood  in  which  I  do  not  find  them 
delightful,  even  when  they  are  querulous  and  inconsistent  — 
for  instance  when  you  come  from  Cummiifs  Castle  in  the 
sulks,  and  fall  a-proving  that  sense  and  taste  are  not  insep- 
arable from  family,  because  possest  by  a  lady  evidently  of 
the  family  of  Or  or  at  least  Argent  by  inoculation.  I  am 
glad  for  the  sake  of  matrimony  and  my  friend  that  when 
you  wrote  that  letter  you  were  far  from  Ayrshire  and  your 
wife ;  for  indeed  you  have  been  as  crusty  as  an  old  batche- 
lor.     Your  ink  is  all  gall,  nor  was  it  you,  but  poor  Mrs.  M. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      133 

that  should  have  used  the  sacred  quotation  of  the  swine,  for 
they  not  only  trod  her  pearls  under  foot  but  turned  and  rent 
her.     I  wish  I  could  see  some  confidential  letter  of  yours 
where  you  speak  of  me  and  my  impromptus,  of  which  no- 
body ever  heard  or  saw  so  many.     But  at  least  mine  have 
never  been  praised  where  yours  were  neglected ;  so  I  shall 
stand  free  of  envy,  and,  like  many  a  one  in  the  world,  sleep 
safe  in  my  insignificancy,  and  stand  by  you  like  a  mole-hill 
at  the  foot  of  Traprain.^     Indeed  I  began  to  fear  your  fire 
was  gone  out,  and  you  were  going  to  light  up  a  new  one  of 
turpentine  and  the  marine,  and  a  very  unodoriferous  flame 
and  dangerous  to  its  neighbours,  as  I  once  experienced  in 
attending  a  course  of  experiments  in  Natural  Philosophy. 
The  operator  told  us  on  mixing  the  three  coldest  liquids  in 
the  world  there  would  arise  a  sudden  flame,  and  we  would 
be  convinced  of  the  propriety  of  this  being  his  last  experi- 
ment.    Instantly  a  blaze   of  liquid   fire   pouring  over  the 
table  on  every  side,  accompanyed  by  the  most  suffocating 
exhalation,  made  every  one  run  out  of  the  room  as   fast  as 
possible.     Next  day  I  had  the  honour  to   be  where   Lord 
Stair  was   long    expected.      At  length    he  appeared,  and 
apologized  for  his  absence  that,  having  only  one   silk  vest 
and  small  cloths,  he  had  been  obliged  to  wait  till  my  lady 
had  darned  the  holes  burnt  in  them  at  yesterday's  exhibi- 
tion.    Now,  I  should  be   more  afraid  still  of  the  caustic  of 
your  double-distilled  vinegar  should  it  come  across  me  at 
any  time.     However,  you  may  allege   I  have  not  been  shy 
of  provoking  it  at  present,  but  I  trust  't  is  already  mollified 
by  the  sweet  smiles  of  innocence  and  the  endearments  of 
love,  amidst  which  you  are  now  placed ;  and  besides,  my 
sickness  claims  compassion.     Meanwhile,  I  beg  you   don't 
change  your  paper,  unless  it  be  to  get  double  foolscap,^  for 


I  34  Correspondence  between 

I  should  rejoice  your  sheet  were  as  large  as  a  winnow-cloth. 
But  to  my  health. 

So  pleased  with  your  pen, 
Of  your  friendship  so  vain, 
Not  toothache  nor  jaundice 
Shall  make  me  complain. 

Yet  I  will  not  allow  you  to  call   it   an   ugly  distemper. 
Remember,  Madam  Pompadour  says,  "  A  woman's  last  sigh 
is  more  for  her  looks  than  her  life."     Besides,  yellow  is  the 
royal  colour  in  China,  where  it  is  the  most  envied  distinction 
to  be  allowed  to  wear  it.     'T  is  the  beauty  of  the  topaz  and 
the  glory  of  the  Sienna  marble,  the  most  esteemed  and 
costly  modern  decoration;  so  that,  should   I   die  here,  I 
would  make  an  inimitable  fine  statue  for  the  farmyard  at 
Morhame   Mains ;  spite  of  which  I   endeavour  to  recover 
the  original  tint  at  the  expense  of  tarter  emetic  every  other 
day,  and  as  yet  without  much  success.     My  gown,  instead 
of  buttoning  as  before,  pins  over  a  handbreadth,  but  I  am 
not  very  bad,  since  you  see  I   can  laugh  both  at  my  own 
distress  and  that  of  my  friends.     And  if  you  can  allow  your 
poetical  fancy  to  represent  a  sick  lady  living  on  white  wine 
and  sour  milk,  and  walking  from  six  to  ten  or  twelve  miles 
every  day,  as  I  really  do,  you  will  not  find  me  an  object  of 
great  compassion.     Indeed  the  malady  does  not  prey  upon 
my  mind ;  so  I  esteem  it  a  very  great  trifle.     It  was  far 
otherwise  when  the  fever  was  coming  on,  and  I  wrot  you  in 
the  mournful  mood,  as  I  suppose  by  your  reply ;  for  indeed 
I  recollect  nothing  of  what  I  said  then.     It  will  put  me  half 
in  the  vapours  again  when  I  consider  your  next  must  be  far 
from  Ayrshire,  in  the  nest  of  my  foes.     The  Menteiths  only 
betrayed  Wallace's  life;  the  Cummins®  murthered  his  fame, 
and  I  hate  their  very  remembrance.     Nor  can  I   endure 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      135 

you  should  call  yourself  the  Bard  of  the  Nith.  I  even  read 
with  regret  the  wish,  though  offered  under  another  char- 
acter, of  ending  one's  days  on  those  distant  banks,  did  not 
the  next  line  show  you  thought  upon  Auld  Hermit  Ayr  at 
the  moment  fancy  threw  those  numbers  into  rhyme.  I 
would  have  sent  you  some  Lothian  lines  my  butter-milk  had 
cast  up,  but  the  paper  will  not  hold  them,  and  they  are  not 
worth  paying  still  more  for.  I  wish  you  may  not  have  a 
third  couple  befor  our  little  one  arrive.  Farewell !  I 
won't  write  you  again  till  Willie  Kerr  comes  home,  and 
Lord  knows  where  he  is,  however,  or  when  he  will  return. 
I  am  vext  to  think  I  have  not  the  least  chance  of  being  at 
home  till  after  you  must  be  long  gone.  I  think  in  all  human 
probability  we  shall  never  meet  more.  That  is  my  fate, 
I  think,  with  all  my  friends,  and  nobody  is  worse  of  making 
new  ones.  Yet  hitherto  every  tenant  of  my  heart,  short  or 
long,  seems  to  have  sat  on  a  liferent  lease  —  I  mean  my 
friends ;  ladies  don't  tell  about  their  loves.  I  hope  you 
have  the  promise  of  a  good  crop.  I  wish  you  be  atten- 
tive enough  for  a  farmer.  My  son  has  never  been  one 
night  from  his  own  house  since  he  carried  home  his  wife, 
and  he  says  he  finds  his  affairs  require  all  that  and  more, 
were  it  possible  for  him  to  give  it.  May  Providence  guide 
your  paths,  and  crown  them  with  health,  wealth,  and  pros- 
perity, is  the  wish  of.  Dr.  Sir,  your  obliged  friend  and 
humble  sert.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  A  conspicuous  conical  hill  in  Prestonkirk  par- 
ish, East  Lothian. 

(2)  Burns's  last  letter  was  written  on  foolscap  — 
all  previous  ones  having  been  on  post. 

(3)  Dalswinton,  the  property  of  Burns's  landlord, 


136  Correspondence  between 

formerly  belonged  to  the  family  of  the  Comyns,  lords 
of  Badenoch  (see  antcuy  p.  131).  Wallace  was  be- 
trayed to  the  English  by  Sir  John  Menteith.  The 
Comyn  whom  Bruce  slew  for  alleged  treachery  is 
charged  with  betraying  Wallace  and  the  cause  of 
independence  at  the  battle  of  Falkirk  (1298),  by 
deserting  the  patriot  chief,  along  with  other  Norman- 
Scotch  nobles,  at  a  critical  moment. 

A  letter  which  Burns  wrote  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  be- 
tween that  last  printed  and  that  which  follows  is 
missing.  In  it  he  must  have  transcribed  the  full 
text  of  the  "  First  Epistle  to  Robert  Graham,  Esq., 
of  Fintry,"  of  which  he  had  sent  her  the  "  first  crude 
thoughts"  only  in  his  letter  of  2nd  August.  In  her 
next  Mrs.  Dunlop  criticises  the  "  Epistle  "  in  detail. 
This  and  the  following  letters  were  addressed  by 
Kerr  of  the  Post-Office  to  care  of  Burns's  friend  John 
M'Murdo,  who  soon  after  this  date  appears  in  the 
poet's  correspondence  as  Chamberlain  to  the  Duke 
of  Queensberry  at  Drumlanrig,  but  must  have  been 
resident  at  this  period  at  Carse,  in  some  capacity  or 
other.  Scott  Douglas  says  M'Murdo  was  introduced 
to  Burns  by  Captain  Riddel  of  Friar's  Carse. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  at  Ellisland, 

care  of  Mr.  John  M'Murdo,  Carse, 

Dunscore,  by  Dumfries. 

MoRHAME  Mains,  \zth  Sept.  1788. 

Dr.  Burns,  —  I  never  received  a  compliment  my  heart 
more  sweetly  relished  than  when  you  tell  me  you  found 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      137 

writing  me  a  relief  to  that  corroding  gloom  which  some- 
times obscures  the  brightest  minds,  and  makes  those  most 
unhappy  who  deserve  least  to  be  so.  As  Rousseau  says, 
"  Have  I  not  known  George  Keith,  and  shall  I  complain 
of  fate  ?  "  Shall  I  for  a  moment  be  enabled  to  reflect  that 
the  man  whose  works  have  soothed  the  darkest  moments  of 
my  soul  has  told  me  that  in  writing  to  me  his  cast  off  one 
cloud,  and  got  nearer  that  serenity  with  which  one  naturally 
wishes  genius  ever  blest,  and  to  which  I  would  pray  you 
might  never  be  a  stranger,  were  it  not  that  a  variety  of 
sensations  is,  I  doubt,  necessary  to  preserve  the  genuine 
character  of  both  the  man  and  the  muse.  I  think  Scrip- 
ture says  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  afflicted.  Experience  tells 
me  it  has  oft  been  good  for  me,  and  I  remember,  before  I 
knew  you,  I  suspected  prosperity  might  hurt  you,  and,  if 
you  remember,  told  you  so  in  the  first  lines  I  ventured  to 
address  to  you.  Since,  I  own,  I  have  not  believed  a  harsh 
regimen  so  needful  for  your  temperament,  and  were  provi- 
dence to  entrust  me  with  the  administration  of  things, 
should  hardly  confine  you  to  it  so  oft  as  perhaps  adverse 
fortune  may  do,  since  I  really  esteem  you  so  much  as  to 
believe  indulgence  would  not  make  a  spoilt  child  of  you, 
and,  whatever  you  may  think,  I  assure  you  I  think  this  is 
the  very  pinnacle  of  greatness  in  man,  and  far  o'er-match- 
ing  the  boast  of  fortitude  in  misfortune.  Yet  I  wish  you 
had  a  little  more  of  a  sanguine  disposition,  and  did  not 
imagine  every  cloud  portended  a  storm,  or  every  thunder- 
storm a  bad  harvest.  Yet,  did  not  these  chimeras  come 
across  you,  they  could  not  be  dissipated  by  sitting  down  to 
write  me,  and  so  I  had  lost  one  of  the  sweetest  ideas  of  my 
life,  one  that  I  could  not  purchase  with  any  price,  and  for 
which   gold  could  give  me  no    equivalent.     I    incline   to 


138  Correspondence  between 

exclaim  like  Rousseau  —  has  not  my  correspondence  once 
proved  comfortable  to  Burns,  and  shall  I  ever  again  be 
tempted  to  think  I  have  lived  in  vain,  or  say,  why  was  my 
thread  spun  out  to  58  years?  As  to  my  health,  I  must  tell 
you  I  have  drank  two  pounds  of  hemp  seed  boiled  in  small 
beer,  and  am  greatly  better ;  so  you  see  I  am  not  so  crabbed 
as  when  I  wrot  last,  and  abused  you  so  grossly  that  I  expected 
you  were  to  lampoon  me  instead  of  giving  me  so  good- 
humour'd  a  reply,  in  which,  however,  I  am  not  wholly  sure 
you  have  followed  nature.  I  daresay  you  had  a  little  re- 
sentment, and  thought  at  least  a  lady  ought  to  have  kept 
within  the  bounds  of  good  breeding ;  and  so  I  certainly  would 
had  I  not  been  convinced  it  was  sometimes  better  for  both 
my  friend  and  myself  to  be  laught  at  than  to  be  tret  seriously 
when  we  are  seized  with  poetical-tragi-comic  forebodings. 
Now,  before  I  criticise  your  poetr)^,  I  must  tell  you  a  secret, 
but  don't  breathe  it  to  the  air  as  yet.  I  have  had  one  of 
my  wishes  granted  since  you  heard  from  me  last ;  yet  "  the 
Gods  have  in  some  measure  curst  Pamela  with  her  pray- 
ers." I  have  a  daughter-'  married,  but  married  to  a  native 
of  a  foreign  land,  possibly  lost  to  me  forever,  and  a  match 
which  is  just  a  cast  of  the  die  whether  't  is  a  great  one  or 
one  that  will  not  afford  bread.  The  man  I  never  saw.  He 
cannot  speak  my  tongue,  nor  I  his ;  yet  he  is  well  spoke 
of;  they  are  fond  of  each  other,  and  I  trust  in  my  God 
shall  be  happy,  when  I  shall  be  permitted  to  view  them 
from  a  superiour  situation,  after  I  have  bid  adieu  to  all 
this  mortal  coil,  and  am  placed  where  I  hope  it  will  make  a 
part  of  my  bliss  to  behold  or  perhaps  superintend  that  of 
my  children  and  my  friends.  Perhaps,  Burns,  I  may  some- 
times be  employed  as  your  Coila  or  guardian  angel.  How 
would  you  like  to  have  the  tables  so  turned  upon  you,  and 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      139 

be  reduced  to  write  under  my  poor  inspiration?  I  fear 
you  would  once  more  repeat  "  My  pen  I  liere  fling  to  the 
door,"  but  I  leave  myself  no  room  to  give  you  my  senti- 
ments on  your  verses,  far  less  to  send  you  mine,  as  I  prom- 
ised in  my  last,  since  this  must  be  only  a  single,  and  even 
then  a  sixpenny  letter.  But  I  hope  Kerr  will  be  returned 
against  I  write  you  again,  and  then  I  shall  scribble  more  at 
my  ease  and  less  to  your  loss,  as  I  may  then  do  it  gratis. 

I  hope  and  believe  your  lines  must  please  the  man  to 
whom  they  are  addrest,  and  although  in  some  degree  a 
parody  of  Pope,  there  is  great  variety  of  finely  fancied 
epithets  thrown  through  the  whole,  and  sufficient  novelty 
to  attract  a  man  of  taste  ;  the  lead  and  buoy  are  well  hung 
on,  and  though  I  would  have  wished  you  less  hard  on  the 
poor  knights  and  squires,  I  admire  much  \h&  flowing  phos- 
phorus and  lumpish  dough  and  unyielding  mass,  and  most 
of  all  the  flashing  Aurora  Borealis.  Then  the  materials, 
creation,  and  character  of  the  poet,  are  all  in  my  opinion 
well  conducted ;  honest  Nature's  compunction  and  twisting 
the  woodbine  round  the  generous  truly  great  is  a  strong, 
nervous,  elegantly-turned  compliment,  which  must  dart 
through  a  sensible  soul  worthy  of  the  noble  praise  it  con- 
veys. The  first  and  last  couplets  of  the  next  sentence  I 
think  peculiarly  beautiful,  and  the  hardzvrung  boon  feel- 
ingly expressive.  As  for  your  ideas  of  the  goodness  of 
the  poetic  heart,  I  think  my  own  were  in  unison  when  I 
found  in 

That  breast  where  genius  flamed  refin'd, 

The  lighthouse  steer'd  for  by  our  storm-beat  kind. 

The  contrast  that  follows  is  striking  to  every  mind  a  little 
deficient  in  the  treasure  of  worldly  wisdom,  and  finely 
illustrated  by  Moore   in   his    story  of  Mr.  B.      I  daresay 


140  Correspondence  between 


too    most   of  us,  like    him,  have    found   our   most   valued 
friends  in  this  class.     At  least  I  am  sure  I  should  never 
covet    any  of  the    rudely-etched    medals   on    base    metal, 
those  vile   caricatures  of  the  Supreme   Being.     As  to  the 
next  lines,  my  very  soul  would  thrill  with  envy  in  reading 
them,  were  they  not  addrest  to  the  Graham,  a  name  which 
every  Wallace  to  the   end  of  the  world  ought  to  revere. 
May  Fintry  feel  and  deserve  the  warm  address  Friend  of 
my  Li/ey  etc.  etc.     I  could  not  wish  him  a  warmer  blessing 
were  he  the  great  Sir  John  [Wallace]  himself.     To  the  end 
all  I  can  say  of  it  is  to  repeat  your  own  words  of  Anton's  ^ 
picture,  "  'T  is  yourself,  the  very  soul  of  the  man  "  —  that 
soul  which  I  could   never  have  investigate  with  half  the 
delight  I  have  done  had  it  never  more  the  horny  fist  and 
piebald  jacket  which  first  attracted  my  curiosity,  and  still 
convinces  me  of  all   the    superiority  it  required   to    shine 
through    such  an  uncouth  disguise.     Apropos  to  disguise, 
this  jaundice  has  made  my  skin  so  yellow  and  thick  and 
uncouth  that  I  always  remind  myself  of  Dryden's  tale  of 
Guiseard  in  his  leathern   frock.     But  I  must  not  dismiss 
your  verses  without  remarking  that  I  am  not  pleased  with 
the  word  WHERE  beginning  the  last  line  but  one,  and  would 
wish  you  to  substitute  in  its  place  either  With  or  There,  as 
with  either  of  these  the  sentence  would  conclude  which  to 
me  at  present  seems  imperfect,  and  leaves  you  in  expecta- 
tion of  something  yet  to  follow  between  and  Finis.     But 
perhaps  this  is   only  some  confusion   of  grammar  in  my 
brain,  instead  of  a  fault  in   your  arrangement   of  words, 
where  interesting  ideas  might  in  some  degree  jostle  them 
out  of  their  place  in  your  head  and  consequently  in  your 
poem.     My  young  landlady  will  still,  I  think,  go  about  all 
the  harvest,  which  with  us  is  not  unfavourable ;  so  I  shall 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      141 


end  with  Cunningham  the  Stewarton  robber's  conclusion 
to  his  father,  when  he  acquainted  him  he  was  next  day  to 
be  hanged  —  "  hoping  these  few  lines  will  find  you  in  the 
same  condition  "  —  I  mean  as  to  the  harvest  not  the  hang- 
ing. Now,  pray  tell  me  where  you  are  to  go  at  the  end  of 
three  weeks,  as  my  letters  are  too  precious  ventures  to  be 
set  adrift  at  random,  and  if  I  knew  a  kinder  farewell  than 
a  Roman  one,  I  would  try  to  find  room  for  it.  What  do 
you  think  of  a  Scots  "  God  bless  you  and  your  friends," 
among  which  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  This  must  have  been  Mrs.  Dunlop's  second 
daughter,  Susan,  who  married  James  Henri  of  Ber- 
naldean.  The  marriage  has  hitherto  been  dated  in 
1789,  but  this  letter  fixes  the  date  for  certain  in  1788. 

(2)  A  pet  name  for  Anthony  Dunlop. 

Burns  has  used  the  back  of  this  letter  for  a  jotting. 


Fields           I  St 

•     SI 

thraves 

2 

•    75 

thraves 

Mosshill 

•    54 

Do. 

Stookhill 

.  no 

Do. 

Above  bar 

•    44 

Do. 

Corner 

•     17 

Do. 

Croft 

55 

Do. 

Houseback 

79 

Do. 

Holmhead 

• 

60 

Do. 

5 

)545( 

109 

5 

45 


To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 


Mauchline,  i~ith  Sept.  1788. 

I  have  received  twins,  Dear  Madam,  more  than  once 

'  '  > 

but  scarcely  ever  with  more  pleasure  than  when  I  received 


142  Correspondence  between 


yours  of  the  12th  inst.  To  make  myself  understood  :  I 
had  wrote  to  Mr.  Graham,  inclosing  my  Poem  addressed 
to  him,  and  the  same  post  which  favoured  me  with  yours, 
brought  me  an  answer  from  him.  It  was  dated  the  very 
day  he  received  mine ;  and  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  say 
whether  it  was  most  polite  or  kind. 

Your  Criticisms,  my  honored  Benefactress,  are  truly  the 
work  of  a  friend.  They  are  not  the  blasting  depredations 
of  a  canker-toothed,  caterpillar  critic;  nor  are  they  the 
fair  statement  of  cold  impartiality,  balancing  with  unfeeling 
exactitude  the  pro  and  con  of  an  Author's  merits;  they 
are  the  judicious  observations  of  animated  Friendship, 
selecting  the  beauties  of  the  Piece. 

I  have  just  arrived  from  Nithsdale,  and  will  be  here  a 
fortnight.  I  was  on  horseback  this  morning  (for  between 
my  wife  and  my  farm  is  just  46  miles)  by  three  o'clock. 
As  I  jogged  along  in  the  dark,  I  was  taken  with  a  Poetic- 
fit  as  follows  — 


MRS.     FERGUSSON    OF   CRAIGDARROCH'S    LAMENTA- 
TION   FOR   THE   DEATH   OF   HER  SON  1 

An  uncommonly  pro7nistng  youth  of  eighteen  or  nineteen 

years  of  age 

Fate  gave  the  word,  the  arrow  sped 

And  pierced  my  Darling's  heart, 
And  with  him  all  the  joys  are  fled 

Life  can  to  me  impart  I 

By  cruel  hands  the  Sapling  drops, 

In  dust  dishonored  laid  : 
So  fell  the  pride  of  all  my  hopes, 

My  age's  future  shade. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      143 


The  mother-linnet  m  the  brake 

Bewails  her  ravished  young ; 
So  I,  for  my  lost  Darling's  sake, 

Lament  the  liveday  long. 

Death,  oft  I  've  fear'd  thy  fatal  blow. 

Now,  fond,  I  bare  my  breast ; 
Oh,  do  thou  kindly  lay  me  low 

With  him  I  love,  at  rest ! 

You  will  not  send  me  your  Poetic-rambles,  but,  you  see, 
I  am  no  niggard  of  mine.  I  am  sure  your  Impromptus 
give  me  double  pleasure  :  what  falls  from  your  Pen  can 
neither  be  unentertaining  in  itself,  nor  indifferent  to  me. 

The  one  fault  you  found,  is  just ;  but  I  cannot  please 
myself  in  an  emendation. 

What  a  life  of  soUtude  is  the  life  of  a  Parent  1  You  in- 
terested me  much  in  your  young  Couple.  I  suppose  it  is 
not  any  of  the  ladies  I  have  seen. 

I  would  not  take  my  folio  for  this  epistle,  and  now  I  re- 
pent it.  I  am  so  jaded  with  my  dirty  long  journey  that 
I  was  afraid  to  drawl  into  the  essence  of  dulness  with  any 
thing  larger  than  a  quarto,  and  so  I  must  leave  out  another 
rhyme  of  this  morning's  manufacture. 

1  '11  pay  the  sapientipotent  George  most  chearfuUy  to 
hear  from  you  ere  I  leave  Ayrshire.  —  I  have  the  honor  to 
be,  Dear  Madam,  your  much  obliged,  and  most  respectful, 
humble  servant,  Robt.  Burns. 

(i)  James  Fergusson,  Esq.,  younger  of  Craigdar- 
roch,  son  of  the  victor  in  the  contest  for  the  Maxwel- 
ton  Whistle  ;  the  youth  died  on  19th  November  1787. 
This  "  Lamentation  "  was  sent  also  to  another  patron- 
ess of  the  poet,  Mrs.  General  Alexander  Stewart  of 


144  Correspondence  between 

Afton,  on  the  death  of  her  only  son,  Alexander 
Gordon  Stewart,  who  died,  aged  sixteen,  at  a  military 
academy  at  Strasburg,  on  5th  December  1787. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns,  at  EUisland, 
care  of  Mr.  John  M'  Murdo,  Carse, 
Dunscore,  Dumfries. 

MoRHAME  Mains,  \sl  Oct.  1788. 
[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinr.,  Third  October  1788.] 

Dr.  Sir, — The  three  weeks  you  mentioned  being  at 
home  ^  are  past,  and  I  fear  I  may  miss  the  mark  in  writ- 
ing you  now,  as  you  told  me  the  same  address  would  only 
answer  that  time.  Yet,  as  ill  luck  has  oft  thwarted  me 
before  now,  I  will  for  once  hope  good  chance  may  be- 
friend me,  and  have  kept  you  longer  than  you  intended  to 
catch  this  flying  sheet,  which  sets  out  on  a  random  search 
as  soon  as  I  heard  Kerr  was  returned.  If  ever  I  keep  a 
register  of  time,  I  shall  surely  mark  the  month  of  August 
with  a  white  stone.  Indeed  it  has  been  the  most  eventful 
of  my  life ;  but  not  for  that  do  I  note  it  at  present,  but 
that  on  that  memorable  month  are  dated  four  of  your  letters 
—  a  happiness  in  which  I  shall  I  hope  hereafter  rejoice  to 
see  poor  August  have  rivals.  'T  was  in  that  blessed  month 
you  told  me  you  found  writing  to  me  the  best  salve  for  an 
wounded  spirit.  The  poor  Levite  \_sic'\  who  lay  wounded 
on  the  roadside  was  not  more  solaced  by  the  wine  and  oil 
of  the  Samaritan  than  my  spirit  was  by  reading  that  line 
in  your  letter ;  for  I  had  the  vanity  to  take  it  for  a  literal 
fact.  I  have  thought  Sept.  of  a  dreary  length  since  you 
have  been  silent.  Yet  I  ought  to  please  myself  that  your 
spirit  has  during  that  space  felt  hale  and  hearty,  since  you 
had  not  recourse  to  the  cordial  of  whose  efficacy  I  feel 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      145 

more  proud  than  the  Queen  ought  to  do  of  her  throne. 
Indeed,  it  must  be  confessed  I  have  much  more  cause. 
The  sovereign  ambition  of  my  soul  from  my  earliest  re- 
membrance has  been  to  share  and  soothe  the  affliction  of 
those  I  esteemed  and  liked,  but  the  very  superlative  delight 
one  can  figure  to  themselves  in  my  opinion  must  be  in 
fancying  to  ourselves  that  those  we  even  admire  voluntarily 
fly  to  an  intercourse  with  us,  in  the  confidential  trust  that 
it  will  prove  consolatory.  Now,  this  is  the  only  hope  that 
never  deceives  us.  No  one  ever  sat  down  to  write  in  this 
faith  but  what  found  it  could  reaUy  remove  mountains  of 
woe.  How  oft  in  writing  you  disjointed  scraps  of  prose 
and  verse  have  I  felt,  as  it  were,  the  very  heart  change 
within  me. 

And  as  dark  shades  fly  o'er  th'  uneven  ground. 
Black  clouds  grow  lighter  in  their  airy  round. 

But  whilst  I  experienced  this  relief  in  being  allowed  to 
address  the  first  poet  of  my  age  or  countr)',  in  pouring 
forth  the  effusions  of  the  moment  before  the  gentlest  sen- 
sibility that  ever  displayed  itself  in  the  flowing  harmony  of 
verse,  never  did  I  dare  harbour  an  idea  that  the  person  to 
whom  I  looked  up  aloft  from  the  lowest  base  of  the  hill 
would  stoop  from  the  summits  of  Parnassus,  from  the  holy 
heights  of  inspiration,  to  squander  that  ink  upon  me  which 
half  the  world  were  gaping  for.  Nor  could  I  have  hoped 
that,  when  my  eyes  would  no  longer  serve  me  to  pick  a 
thorn  from  your  finger  without  spectacles,  you  should  be 
able  to  discover  anything  in  my  character  to  draw  a  sting 
from  your  mind,  or  help  to  sweeten  the  bitter  cup  of  human 
care.  I  'm  sure  if  ever  in  any  moment  or  manner  my  be- 
ing in  this  world  has  contributed  to  make  you  easier,  I 

VOL.  I.  — 10 


146  Correspondence  between 

cannot  express  how  much  your  telUng  me  so  has  made  me 
happier. 

Dear  Burns,  will  you  allow  me  to  ask,  is  '*  Each  pleasure 
riches  give  "  ^  a  proper  English  expression?  Were  it  not 
yours,  I  should  not  think  it  was  perfectly  correct,  but  would 
rather  have  approv'd  "  Each  pleasure  wealth  can  give  "  as 
more  grammatic  and  melodious  too.  Since  you  asked  my 
opinion,  I  should  be  angry  at  myself  if  there  were  a  comma 
I  disliked,  or  rather  that  I  feared  any  one  else  could  dis- 
like, that  I  did  not  point  out  to  your  notice  the  moment  it 
struck  my  own.  Perhaps  you  will  be  angry  at  me  for 
doing  this ;  't  is  the  weakness  of  great  men  to  fret  at 
people  who  find  trifling  faults  in  them  or  their  works.  I 
think  you  are  above  this  with  a  friend,  but  I  may  be  mis- 
taken. If  I  am,  I  hope  it  is  only  in  my  grammar,  not  in 
my  friend.  There  I  would  have  my  judgment  fixed  and 
unalterable  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  for  it 
is  there  alone  I  am  sure  it  could  not  change,  but  for  the 
worse.  Meantime,  I  only  criticise  the  line,  not  the  senti- 
ment. I  must  tell  you  a  little  incident  in  confirmation  of 
the  parts  the  world  allow  you  for  relishing  the  sweets  of 
affluence.  One  day  your  works  were  the  subject  of  dis- 
course. I  had  not  then  seen  so  many  proofs  that  the 
author's  taste  soar'd  above  these  pleasures  gold  can  buy, 
and,  all  curiosity,  asked  if  any  of  the  company  knew  or 
had  ever  seen  him.  "  Yes,"  says  one  gentleman,  ''  I  was 
once  accidentally  two  days  with  him."  "And,"  cries  I, 
"  what  kind  of  man  is  he  in  company?  What  did  you 
think  of  him?"  "I  don't  know,"  says  he,  "what  he 
might  have  been  once,  but  they  have  quite  spoilt  him  now 
at  Edr.  If  ever  he  was  good  for  anything,  he  is  the 
damnedest  bundle  of  self-conceit  and  insolence  I  ever  saw." 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      147 

"  Insolence,"  says  I,  surprised ;  "  for  self-conceit  I  can 
readily  forgive  that,  for  surely  he  has  an  infinite  deal  to 
found  it  on ;  but  for  God's  sake  tell  me  how  did  he  show 
it?  What  did  he  say  or  do?  "  "  Why,  he  talked  loud  and 
more  than  came  to  his  share.  In  the  morning  could  not 
breakfast  without  confections;  at  dinner  found  nothing 
good  enough  for  him,  nothing  but  what  was  detestable, 
curst  the  cook,  damn'd  the  waiters,  and  despised  drinking 
port."  "  He  had  been  drunk  with  port  the  night  before, 
and  ree  or  cropsick  in  the  morning."  "  No,"  says  he, 
"  't  was  all  airs ;  he  was  quite  vife,  and  ate  a  very  hearty 
dinner."  You  '11  allow  this  was  a  strong  sketch.  Had 
Beugo  hit  it  off  no  better,  I  don't  think  I  should  have 
discovered  the  original  by  the  picture,  as  I  really  had  done 
not  long  before.  Indeed,  I  could  not  resist  rejoining,  and 
I  dare  say  in  a  manner  expressive  of  the  self-applause  I 
really  felt  at  the  moment,  "  He  must  have  had  great  esteem 
for  the  company  I  saw  him  in,  for  his  behaviour  was  the 
very  reverse  of  all  that,  and  seemed  perfectly  natural  and 
easie  too."  But  I  have  forgot  myself,  and  lost  sight  of 
the  rich  pleasures  we  set  out  with.  Now,  I  own  I  have, 
I  think,  felt  sometimes  a  zest  in  mediocrity  which  riches 
would  have  excluded,  and  I  dare  say  so  have  you.  Even 
at  this  moment,  while  I  write,  are  you  not  conscious  that, 
if  you  possest  a  coronet  and  a  nabob  fortune,  you  would 
be  less  sensible  that  my  letters  were  real  testimonies  of 
the  internal  treasures  Providence  has  given  you  in  lieu  of 
them?  Or,  were  I  able  to  serve  you  as  I  could  wish, 
might  my  happiness  even  in  that  not  be  counterbalanced 
by  a  diminution  of  my  present  satisfaction  in  that  disin- 
terested goodwill  which  I  am   proud  to  believe  you  bear 

me?     Yet  I  must  confess,  if  Mr.  Graham  make  a  proper 

% 


148  Correspondence  between 


use  of  his  advantages,  I  will  envy  him  spite  of  all  philo- 
sophizing to  the  contrary. 

I  wrot  the  above  two  days  ago.  Since  that  I  have  been 
very  busy  —  shall  I  tell  you  how?  Yes,  I  will,  that  you 
may  see  there  is  no  sanctum  sanctorum  in  my  mind  (so 
void  it  is  now)  at  which  a  friend  may  not  peep,  even  al- 
though that  very  friend  must  remember  how  lately  he 
turned  the  dark  lanthorn  upon  me  when  his  whole  soul  was 
on  flame,  and  he  hid  every  circumstance  from  me  as  if  I 
had  been  the  worst  enemy  he  had  in  the  world.  This 
was  a  thunder-clap  I  can  never  forget,  for  at  that  instant 
I  was  just  pluming  myself  in  the  superiour  share  I  had 
gained  of  your  esteem  and  confidence.  But  to  my  em- 
ployment and  motive  for  it  —  a  secret  which  on  trial  I 
almost  find  incommunicable.  I  have  a  gown  which  was  a 
present  from  my  only  brother.  For  this  and  forty  other 
reasons,  which  you  can  never  guess,  I  have  had  it 
this  forty  years,  and  wore  it  at  least  ten  of  that  time ; 
it  was  perfectly  in  tatters.  Four  days  ago  quand  je  re^oi- 
voit  un  lettre  de  mon  gendre  inconnu,  't  was  now  necessary 
to  have  a  new  one.  I  sit  down  to  write  for  it,  but  just 
then  got  an  account  of  the  most  clamant  misery  of  a  poor 
woman  whom  fate  had  persecuted  past  redemption,  and 
whose  last  hope  was  snatched  from  her  in  a  moment  by 
the  unlooked-for  expiring  of  the  only  son  from  whom  she 
looked  for  help,  in  her  arms  alone  and  in  despair.  These 
are  the  moments  when  gold  is  valuable.  I  threw  my  letter 
in  the  fire,  gave  ten  shillings  for  a  body  to  my  old  gown 
instead  of  sending  for  the  new  one,  saved  the  tailor's  bill, 
and  sit  down  to  sew  it  myself  with  a  pleasure  which  even 
superseded  that  of  writing  you,  and  which  I  would  not 
have  felt  could  I  have  readily  commanded  ;j(^20  at  the 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     149 


time  in  ready  money  without  borrowing  —  a  thing  I  dare 
never  trust  myself  to  do,  for  I  am  so  miserable  an  econo- 
mist I  should  never  be  able  to  make  up  my  leeway  again 
if  I  did,  and  neither  my  pride  nor  principle  admit  of  being 
in  debt. 

Will  you  be  so  good  as  tell  me  whose  marks  the  different 
letters  are  in  Johnson's  Museum,  which  I  have  just  got  the 
second  volume  of?  ^  Besides  a  number  of  stars  and  one 
differently  shaped  from  all  the  rest,  there  are  D.,  M.,  X., 
Z.,  R,  and  B.,  all  or  any  of  whom  I  would  be  glad  to  have 
named,  if  't  is  not  a  secret  you  are  unwilling  to  communi- 
cate to  myself ;  for  if  you  forbid  me  I  would  not  mention 
it  to  anybody  else.  1  hope  you  are  not  again  in  Ayrshire, 
and  I  at  so  great  a  distance  still.  My  patience  is  wore  out 
on  that  and  several  other  accounts,  but  I  believe  it  is  pre- 
destinate you  and  I  are  never  to  meet  more.  Should  it 
even  prove  so,  I  flatter  myself  our  minds  will  frequently 
agree  even  at  distance,  and  that  we  may  both  have  pleasure 
in  comparing  and  communicating  our  ideas  to  each  other 
upon  paper,  if  not  in  company.  Meantime,  I  shall  be 
impatient  to  hear  whether  you  have  been  at  Mr.  Graham's 
or  at  Mossgiel.  If  the  first,  what  were  the  consequences 
of  your  visit  ?  Write  me  here  still,  for  God  knows  when  I 
leave  this.  I  would  complain  of  my  long  confinement  were 
it  rational  to  think  of  myself,  when  I  consider  what  must  be 
the  situation  of  the  poor  girl  I  am  with,  and  see  with  what 
inimitable  good  humour  she  submits  to  what  she  cannot 
but  anxiously  feel.  She  is  a  most  enormous  bulk  indeed, 
and  I  am  sure  must  be  a  very  great  burthen  to  herself,  yet 
she  never  breathes  a  complaint.  God  send  her  safely 
through  a  state  which  has  for  some  time  given  me  very 
uneasie  apprehensions  on  her  account !     Besides,  I  really 


150  Correspondence  between 

think  losing  his  wife  would  be  ruin  to  John  at  present.  I 
think  their  life  is  almost  the  only  one  I  ever  could  have 
coveted,  and  in  my  youngest  days  I  believe  I  would  have 
found  it  replete  with  everything  which  would  then  have 
been  requisite  to  make  me  happy,  could  I  have  divested 
myself  of  some  part  of  the  liking  I  have  to  books  and  the 
predilection  in  favour  of  those  who  write,  or  at  least  like 
to  read  them,  which  I  dare  say  it  is  as  good  for  them  that 
they  enjoy  in  a  more  moderate  degree,  so  as  not  to  inter- 
fere with  the  farm,  as  I  fear  it  may  sometimes  do  with 
you.  But  it  is  no  matter,  since,  as  poor  Mess  John  Hunter  * 
says  in  one  of  his  poetic  pannels  in  the  church  wall  at  Ayr, 
speaking  of  charity  — 

Water  whereon  this  seed  is  cast  may  yield 
A  crop  more  plenteous  than  the  richest  field. 

I  hope  you  may  forgive  my  quotation,  if  it  requires  any 
apology  from  the  expectation  of  being  able  to  realise  the 
prediction,  as  I  have  no  doubt  if  you  could  labour  equally 
to  the  advantage  of  your  family,  there  is  no  ground  you 
could  improve  with  such  ease  and  pleasure  to  yourself  as 
the  precincts  of  Parnassus.  I  am  sure  there  is  none  where 
I  would  like  so  well  to  walk  round  your  policy. 

It  is  this  moment  come  into  my  head  that  as  the  time 
of  the  address  is  elapsed,  you  may  never  get  this  scrawl, 
in  which  case  it  is  already  too  long.  Perhaps  you  may 
think  so,  at  any  rate,  if  the  weather  be  still  bad,  and  the 
corn  wet  in  the  field,  or  some  such  rural  distress  putting 
you  out  of  tune  with  yourself  and  of  course  with  me,  unless 
you  resemble  me  in  one  particular,  which  is  that  of  being 
most  pleased  with  what  you  write  when  I  am  displeased  and 
unhappy  with  everything  else,  for  really  the  use  of  the  poet 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      1 5 1 

is  not  most  materially  to  divert  his  graver  friends.  That 
his  ludicrous  pieces  can  do  to  great  purpose,  as  I  experi- 
enced at  the  early  dressing-room  ["  The  Mauchline  Wed- 
ding "]  I  was  lately  introduced  to,  but  the  serious  sublime 
ones  bring  serenity  and  unclouded  sunshine  to  anguish, 
and  even  to  peevish  discontent  —  the  most  troublesome 
state  of  female  minds,  and  from  which  they  have  few  re- 
courses and  their  friends  no  shelter  but  what  they  often 
find  in  contempt  or  indifference.  Nay,  more,  a  friendly 
kind  letter  can  convey  this  cordial  more  effectually  than 
all  the  poignancy  of  wit  or  melody  of  numbers  put  to- 
gether for  the  public.  In  nothing  is  tneum  and  tuum 
more  distinguishable  than  in  the  difference  one  feels  be- 
tween reading  the  same  thing  and  from  the  same  person  in 
a  book  or  in  a  letter.  Believe  me,  I  prefer  one  of  yours 
by  post  to  the  whole  Alexandrian  Library,  even  could  I 
get  it  in  English.  Adieu  !  Health  and  happiness  to  you 
and  yours,  and  may  you  always  wish  and  find  me  your 
friend  !  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  This  is  a  reference  to  the  missing  letter  to 
which  Mrs.  Dunlop's  of  the  12th  September  M^as  an 
answer. 

(2)  From  the  "  First  Epistle  to  Robert  Graham, 
Esq.,  of  Fintray."  Mrs.  Dunlop's  suggestion  was 
not  adopted. 

(3)  This  fixes  the  date  of  publication  of  the  sec- 
ond volume  of  Johnson's  Museum. 

(4)  "  D'rymple  Mild's "  predecessor  in  the  first 
charge  of  Ayr  parish.  He  was  the  author  of,  among 
other  works,  a  religious  drama,  "The  Wanderer  and 
Traveller." 


if2  Correspondence  between 


Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 
Mossgill,  Kilmarnock. 

MoRHAME  Mains,  9/"/^  Octhr.  1788. 
[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinr.,  Tenth  October  1788.] 

Dr.  Burns,  —  I  have  been  very  much  out  of  luck.  The 
very  day  I  heard  Mr.  Kerr  was  come  home  I  sit  down  to 
write  you,  and  although  the  time  was  elapsed  you  had 
pointed  out  for  finding  you  at  EUisland,  I  flattered  myself 
some  lucky  accident  might  have  retarded  your  journey. 
In  short  I  wished  to  write,  not  that  I  had  anything  to  say, 
but  that  I  hoped  to  tempt  you  to  say  something  to  me,  and 
as  you  had  left  me  quite  in  the  dark  as  to  where  you  were 
going,  and  I  was  very  unwilling  to  think  it  would  be  again 
to  Ayrshire,  just  while  I  was  so  far  from  it,  I  thought  I 
would  venture  a  sheet  to  Nithsdale.  I  did  in  the  evening, 
and,  as  cross  luck  would  have  it,  the  very  next  morning  after 
I  dispatched  my  letter,  which  was  not  till  two  days  after  I 
should  have  done  it,  came  yours  of  the  twenty-seventh 
from  Mauchline.  Mine,  I  hope,  will  lay  safe  till  you  go 
home  again,  but  you  need  be  no  ways  anxious  about  it,  as 
it  is  all  a  prosaic  piece,  and  too  frozen  already  to  catch 
cold  in  keeping.  I  am  so  much  obliged  by  your  writing 
on  your  arrival,  and  sending  me  half  the  product  of  your 
morning's  work,  that  I  dare  not  reproach  your  little  scrim- 
pet  page,  though  the  more  I  was  pleased  with  having  it,  the 
more  I  must  wish  you  had  held  by  the  former  size.  Yet  it 
would  have  been  quite  inconscionable  to  wish  your  fatiguing 
yourself,  just  lighted  from  a  46  miles'  dark  ride,  and  getting 
into  so  large  a  circle,  from  whom  it  was  almost  unfair  to 
steal  the  precious  moments  of  meeting  to  give  me  your 
Lament,  tho'  indeed  you  would  hardly  have  done  justice  to 
the  share  I  take  in  what  tends  to  your  happiness,  had  you 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      153 

delayed  telling  me  of  the  twin-letter,  from  which  I  dare  say 
you  can  hardly  reap  more  pleasure  than  I  do.  Fortune 
honoured  and  favour'd  mine  much  by  bringing  it  in  good 
company,  and  hereafter  I  shall  be  glad  you  never  find  cause 
to  separate  the  ideas  of  a  friend  who  really  may  and  does 
materially  serve,  and  one  who  can  only  wish  sincerely  to 
see  another  do  what  is  beyond  her  own  reach  to  perform. 
You  say  I  send  you  none  of  my  poetic  rambles.  The  truth 
is  the  instrument  is  jogged  out  of  tune  of  late,  as  you  say, 
by  parental  solicitudes,  but  if  you  '11  not  be  pleased  but  with 
a  rhyme  I  must  try  two  three  lines  like  the  wife  in  the 
song  —  what  soe'er  they  be,  if  they  jingle,  that's  enough 

for  me. 

Tane  up  between  a  priest  and  Jean, 
You  once  forgot  Parnassus  Queen  ; 
From  you  to  me  the  Muse  then  fled, 
With  you  still  running  in  her  head. 

Now  I  aver  this  is  a  very  pretty  compliment,  if  you  can 
find  it  out,  and  quite  fit  to  come  from  the  Aurora  of  the 
poles,  but  I  am  too  long  at  telling  you  what  a  grand  subject 
I  was  within  a  hair's-breadth  of  furnishing  your  mourning 
Melpomene.  Nay,  all  the  tears  of  the  Muses  would  have 
been  too  few.  My  very  soul  shudders  at  the  thought,  even 
now  when  the  danger  is  past.  You  say  you  are  interested 
in  the  young  couple  (whose  secret  I  therefore  hope  you 
still  have  and  will  keep  till  you  have  it  from  some  other 
quarter) ,  but  figure  to  yourself  Lady  Wallace's  ^  house 
burnt,  which  has  been  twice  in  the  most  imminent  danger 
within  this  six  weeks,  and  suppose  the  Swiss  coming  post 
to  see  the  unextinguishable  flame  that  has  actually  re- 
duced to  ashes  the  house  next  his  bride's.  Suppose  you 
found  Mossgiel  all  in  one  conflagration  on  your  arrival,  and 


1^4  Correspondence  between 

the  distant  flame  lighted  your  darksome  way  for  some  miles 
before  you  could  reach  it.     You  may  then  pen  something 
that  would  have  suited  such  a  catastrophe.     Yet  I  know 
not.     You  would  still    [have]    had   friends  and   acquaint- 
ances.    How  bitter  must  be  misfortune  to  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land  !     But  this  picture  is  too  dreadful   to   dwell 
upon ;  it  has  made  me  sick  two  days  already ;  so  I  bid  it 
adieu,  and  will  now  send  you  some  lines  I  wrot  some  time 
ago  on  being  told  a  Mr.  Anderson  had  just  bought  Clerken- 
ton  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  was  about  to  marry  a  sweet 
pretty  girl,  a  Miss  Finlay,  born  at  Donmanore  near  Edr., 
and  living  in  Haddington  with  a  grandmother.     She  is  a 
distant  relation  of  mine,  and  came  to  see  me  herself,  and 
some  circumstances  in  which  I  believe  Fame  was  mistaken, 
as  well  as  in  that  of  its  being  her  betrothed  that  had  bought 
Clerkenton,  interested  me  and  produced  the  inclosed.    Here 
I  was  called  to  see  my  son  Andrew  come  to  town  on  the 
news  of  the  fire,  which  has  been  more  alarming  than  they 
let  me  know  —  so  very  near  my  friends  that  L.  W.  was  taken 
out  of  a  window,  not  daring  open  the  door  lest  the  mob  had 
rushed  in  and  robbed  the  house,  which  on  this  account  my 
daughter  would  not  leave  as  long  as  it  was  possible  to  stay 
with  safety.     Yet  the  effort  has  been  so  much  for  her  she 
has  been  confined  to  bed  ever  since,  and  so  ill  her  brother 
and  sister  were  called  in  from  the  country  to  see  her  —  all 
which  they  kept  quiet  from  me,  as  I  could  not  have  left 
John's  wife,  whose  situation  is  still  undetermined,  and  who 
seems  to  place  so  much  on  having  me  with  her  that  I  could 
not  on  any  account  tear  myself  away,  unless  she  had  been 
rich  enough  to  have  some  other  friend  among  the  numerous 
relations  living  all  around   her  who  might    have  supply'd 
my  place.     Be  not  therefore  surprized  my  hand  shakes ;  so 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      i^^ 

does  my  heart ;  yet  my  health  is  now  pretty  good,  and  I 
am  much  interested  to  hear  what  harvest  and  crop  you 
have  had  this  season,  and  how  you  left  and  found  your  far 
distant  concerns.  Remember  I  told  you  the  Muse  that 
inspired  my  rhymes  was  the  wish  to  please  a  poet  and  to 
gain  a  friend,  and  that  my  aim  was  to  pry  into  every  cranny 
and  corner  of  that  soul  which  prompted  your  delightfuU  lays. 
I  have  done  everything  in  my  power  to  attain  that  end ;  if 
you  think  me  worth  the  trouble,  shew  me  the  house,  instead 
of  turning  the  dark  side  of  the  lanthorn  on  my  friendly  curi- 
osity.    Farewell.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  When  James  Boswell  went  to  London  the 
dowager  Lady  Wallace  became  the  occupier  of  his 
flat  in  James's  Court,  where  he  in  his  turn  had  suc- 
ceeded David  Hume. 

To  Burns. 

MORHAM  Mains,  Tuesday  21st  Oct.  1788. 

Dear  Sir,  —  In  consequence  of  the  promise  your  friend- 
ship excited,  I  am  to  mform  you  that  this  has  been  a  great 
week  with  me.  It  has  brought  me  a  son  and  a  grandson. 
On  Wednesday  last,  Mr.  Henry,  the  Swiss  mountaineer, 
arrived  from  London,  where  he  had  been  in  a  fever,  and 
found  his  wife,  thank  God  !  just  got  out  of  the  same  con- 
dition, in  which  she  had  continued  ever  since  the  fire.  I 
have  not  yet  seen  either  of  them,  being  wholly  taken  up 
about  the  young  stranger  and  his  mother,  whom  I  now  hope 
soon  to  be  able  to  leave  well  and  nursing  her  little  charge. 
She  was  really  ill,  and  I  think  the  farmer's  joy  in  the  in- 
crease of  his  family  was  hugely  diminished  by  his  concern 
about  and  fears  for  his  little  wife.  I  would  beg  to  hear  from 
you  as  soon  as  you  receive  this,  that  I  may  guess  whether  I 


156  Correspondence  between 

can  have  any  chance  of  finding  you  in  Ayrshire  at  my  re- 
turn, which  I  think  ought  not  now  to  be  a  far  distant  pros- 
pect. It  is  not  mere  words  of  course  to  say  I  will  meet  my 
friends  with  redoubled  pleasure  if  you  are  one  of  the  num- 
ber. On  the  contrary,  I  am  not  sure  if  even  the  power  of 
your  own  magic  numbers  can  express  the  strength  and  sin- 
cerity of  that  regard  and  admiration  which  attaches  me  to 
my  favourite  author,  and  inspires  the  pleasure  and  pride  I 
feel  in  having  your  own  sanction  to  assume  the  name  of, 
Dr.  Burns,  your  friend  and  obliged  humble  sert.  Believe 
me,  't  is  one  of  the  greatest  satisfactions  I  can  feel  to  think 
you  have  a  little  partiaUty  in  favour  of  the  truly  grateful 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

Write  me  here  till  I  give  you  another  address.  I  have 
not  time  for  a  word  more.  You  who  increase  like  the 
patriarch  Jacob  will  despise  our  poor  single,  long-looked-for 
production.  Lord  bless  you  and  your  wife,  your  sons  and 
daughters,  your  man  and  your  maid  servant,  your  ox  and 
your  ass,  and  all  that  is  yours  !     Amen. 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 

Moreham  Mains,  Haddington. 

Sanquhar,  zyd  Oct.  1788. 

Dear  Madam,  —  This  is  literally  a  letter  en  passant,  for 
I  write  you  while  my  horse  baits,  on  my  wonted  journey. 
Your  two  kind  epistles  came  in  course ;  but  I  shall  much 
long  for  a  third  one,  to  inform  me  how  you  have  recovered 
the  horrid  shock  you  must  have  felt  in  the  dreadful  catas- 
trophe of  Lady  Wallace's  house.  My  blood  runs  cold 
when  I  think  of  it ! 

Apropos,  I  breakfasted  this  morning  at  Laicht,  near  New 
Cumnock,  and  Mrs.  Logan  ^  asked  me  if  I  had  heard  that 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     157 

Miss  S n  D p  was  married  to  a  Dane  ?     I  replied, 

the  information  was  new  to  me.  As  it  is  written,  "  that 
which  is  done  in  corners  shall  be  proclaimed  on  the  house- 
tops." Your  last.  Madam,  is  unanswerable.  The  illustrious 
name  of  Wallace  and  the  accomplishments  of  Mrs.  Dunlop 
have  accustomed  you  so  much  to  the  superlatives  of  Com- 
mendation that  I  am  afraid. 

Ellisland,  z(ith  Oct. 

My  officious  Landlady  interrupted  me.  Madam,  as  I  was 
going  on  to  tell  you  that  my  Modesty  called  out  Murder  ! 
all  the  time  I  was  reading  your  last.  Very  unlike  the  fate 
of  your  other  letters,  I  have  never  read  it  but  once. 
Though  I  never  sit  down  to  ansiuer  a  letter,  as  our  Pas- 
toral Bards  make  their  contending  swains  answer  one 
another,  or  as  a  be-periwigged  Edinr.  Advocate  answers 
his  be-gowned  brother,  yet  I  cannot  help  thanking  you 
particularly  for  the  poetic  compliment  in  your  epistle  the 
last  I  received  but  one.  Now  I  talk  of  Poetry,  what 
think  you  of  the  following  character  :  ^  I  mean  the  painting 
of  it :  — 

A  little,  upright,  pert,  tart,  tripping  Wight, 
And  still  his  precious  Self  his  vast  delight : 
Who  loves  his  ovpn  smart  Shadow  in  the  streets 
Better  than  e'er  the  fairest  She  he  meets. 
A  7nati  of  fashion  too,  he  made  his  tour, 
Learn'd,  vive  la  bagatelle,  et,  vive  I'amour; 
So  travell'd  monkies  their  grimace  improve, 
Polish  their  grin,  nay  sigh  for  ladies'  love. 
Much  specious  lore,  but  little  understood ; 
Fineering  oft  outshines  the  solid  wood  : 
His  solid  sense  by  inches  you  must  tell, 
But  mete  his  subtle  cunning  by  the  ell ; 
His  meddling  Vanity,  a  busy  fiend, 
Still  making  work  his  selfish  craft  must  mend. 


1^8  Correspondence  between 


Another  ^  — 

.  .  .     Crochallan  came, 

The  old  cock'd  hat.  the  brown  surtout  the  same : 

His  rising  beard  just  bristling  in  his  might, 

('T  was  five  long  nights  and  days  to  shaving-night) 

His  grisly,  uncomb'd  hair,  wild-staring,  thatch'd 

A  head,  for  thought  profound  and  clear,  unmatch'd : 

Yet,  tho'  his  caustic  wit  was  biting  rude, 

His  heart  was  warm,  benevolent  and  good. 

These  are  embryotic  parts  of  what  may,  perhaps,  one 
day  be  a  Poem. 

In  Johnson's  Scots  Musical  Miiseum,  you  will  find  my 
pieces,  such  as  they  are  —  for  Heaven  knows  they  are 
many  of  them  dull  enough  !  —  signed  with  one  or  other 
of  the  letters  R.,  B.,  or  X,  The  other  marked  pieces  are 
by  poetic  folks  whom  I  dare  say,  except  Dr.  Blacklock,  you 
don't  know. 

I  may  see  you  at  Moreham  mains,  if  you  do  not  leave  it 
for  two  or  three  months ;  as  a  little  business  of  the  devil's 
making  will  sometime  soon,  drive  me  to  Haddington.  Or 
if  you  return  to  Dunlop  to  keep  your  Hallowe'en,  I  will 
meet  you  there  also;  as  I  must  be  at  Dunlop  and  Kil- 
maurs'  cow-fairs,  which  happen  on  Hallowe'en  and  Hal- 
lowday  —  old  style.  I  believe  I  shall  move,  bag  and 
baggage,  to  Nithsdale  at  Martinmas.  I  am  getting  the 
loan  of  a  neighbouring  house,  till  my  own  be  ready. 

Before  this  can  reach  you,  my  direction  will  be  again  at 
Mauchline.  —  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  with  the  highest 
respect.  Dear  Madam,  your  oblidged  and  obedient  humble 
servt.  RoBT.  Burns. 

(i)  Mrs.  Logan  of  Laicht,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Afton  in  the  parish  of  New  Cumnock.  She  brought 
Laicht  to  her  husband  at  marriage,  and  they  resided 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      159 

there,  and  not  at  Mr.  Logan's  patrimonial  estate  of 
Knockshinnoch  in  the  same  parish.  Mr.  Logan  was 
the  "  Afton's  Laird  "  of  "  The  Kirk's  Alarm." 

(2)  These  are  the  first  drafts  of  the  lines  on 
Creech  and  Smellie  respectively,  which  were  after- 
wards incorporated,  with  emendations,  in  "  The  Poet's 
Progress." 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 

Moreham  Mains,  Haddington. 

Mauchline,  2gt/i  Oct.  1788. 

I  give  you  joy,  Dear  Madam,  of  your  new  grand-child. 
I  beg  you  will  give  my  sincere  compliments  to  my  brother 
farmer  on  the  occasion. 

I  wrote  you  the  other  day  from  Nithsdale,  but  I  write 
you  whenever  I  have  leisure ;  and  lest  I  should  grow  tire- 
some with  my  Egotisms  and  rhymes,  just  let  the  reading 
of  them  wait  till  you  too  have  leisure.  I  began  a  Work 
lately,  but  what  that  work  may  be  I  am  totally  ignorant. 
As  Young  says,  "  'T  is  nonsense  destin'd  to  be  future 
sense,"  I  sent  you  a  fragment  of  it  by  my  last :  take  the 
following  rough  sketch  of  the  intended  beginning,  and  let 
me  know  your  opinion  of  the  lines  :  — 

THE   POET'S   PROGRESS  1 

AN   EMBRYOTIC   POEM   IN   THE  WOMB   OF   FUTURITY 

Thou,  Nature,  partial  Nature,  I  arraign, 

Of  thy  caprice  maternal  I  complain. 

The  peopled  fold  thy  kindly  care  have  found, 

The  horned  bull  tremendous  spurns  the  ground  : 

The  lordly  lion  has  enough,  and  more, 

The  forest  trembles  at  his  very  roar. 

Thou  givest  the  ass  his  hide,  the  snail  his  shell. 

The  poisonous  wasp  victorious  guards  his  cell. 


i6o  Correspondence  between 

Thy  minion  Man,  exulting  in  his  powers, 

In  fields,  courts,  camps,  by  altars,  bars  devours. 

Kings  bear  the  civil.  Priests  the  sacred  blade; 

Soldiers  and  hangmen  murder  by  their  trade  : 

Even  silly  Women  have  defensive  arts, 

Their  eyes,  their  tongues,  and  nameless  other  parts. 

But  O  thou  cruel  Stepmother  and  hard, 

To  that  poor,  fenceless,  naked  thing  —  a  Bard! 

A  thing  unteachable  in  worldly  skill. 

And  half  an  idiot  too,  more  helpless  still. 

No  heels  to  bear  him  from  the  opening  dun; 

No  claws  to  dig,  his  hated  sight  to  shun : 

No  horns,  but  those  by  luckless  Hymen  worn. 

And  those,  alas  !  not  Amalthea's  horn. 

His  dart  satyric,  his  unheeded  sting ; 

And  idle  fancy's  pinion  all  his  wing : 

The  silly  sheep  that  wanders,  wild,  astray, 

Not  more  unfriended,  and  not  more  a  prey. 

Vampyre  Booksellers  drain  him  to  the  heart, 

And  butcher  Critics  cut  him  up  by  art. 

Critics,  appall'd  I  venture  on  the  Name ; 
Those  bandits  that  infest  the  paths  of  Fame : 
Bloody  Dissectors,  worse  than  ten  Monroes ; 
He  cuts  to  teach,  they  mangle  to  expose. 
His  heart  by  causeless,  wanton  Malice  wrung ; 
By  Blockheads  daring  even  to  madness  stung ; 
Tom,  bleeding,  tortur'd  in  th'  unequal  strife. 
The  hapless  Poet  flounces  on  thro'  life : 
Till  fled  each  Muse  that  glorious  once  inspir'd, 
Extinct  each  ray  that  once  his  bosom  fir'd  ; 
Low-sunk  in  feeble,  unprotected  age, 
Dead  even  resentments  for  his  injur'd  Page ; 
He  feels  no  more  the  ruthless  Critic's  rage ! 

So,  by  some  hedge,  the  generous  Steed  deceas'd, 
To  half-starv'd,  snarling  Curs  a  dainty  feast; 
By  Toil  and  Famine  wore  to  skin  and  bone, 
Lies,  senseless  of  each  tugging  bitch's  son. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      i6i 


Thus  far  only  have  I  proceeded,  and  perhaps  I  may  never 
again  resume  the  subject.  I  must  mention  one  caution  to 
you,  Madam,  with  respect  to  these  verses ;  I  have  a  remote 
idea  that  I  may  one  day  use  them  as  instruments  of  ven- 
geance, and  consequently  I  will  hide  them  like  a  Conspira- 
tor's dagger.  I  mean  this  lest  you  might  inadvertantly 
mention  them,  or  acknowledge  them  as  your  old  acquaint- 
ances, should  you  meet  with  them  anonymously  in  a 
Newspaper.  I  need  not  add  that  I  allude  to  a  certain 
Bookseller's  connection  and  mine. 

How  do  you  like  the  following  song,  designed  for  an  Air 
composed  by  a  friend  of  mine,  and  which  he  had  christened 
"The  blue-eyed  lassie  "  :  ^  — 

I  gade  a  waefu'  gate  yestreen,        went,  road,  last  evening 

A  gate,  I  fear,  I  dearly  rue ; 
I  gat  my  death  frae  twa  sweet  een, 

Twa  lovely  een  o'  bony  blue. 

'T  was  not  her  golden  ringlets  bright  ; 

Her  lips  like  roses  wat  wi'  dew ; 
Her  heaving  bosom,  lily-white, 

It  was  her  een  sae  bony  blue. 

She  talk'd,  she  smil'd,  my  heart  she  wyl'd,  lured 

She  charm'd  my  soul  I  wist  na  how  ; 
And  ay  the  stound,  the  deadly  wound,  shock 

Cam  frae  her  een  sae  bony  blue. 

But  spare  to  speak,  and  spare  to  speed ; 

She  '11  aiblins  listen  to  my  vow :  maybe 

Should  she  refuse  —  I  '11  lay  my  dead  death 

To  her  twa  een  sae  bony  blue. 

I  must  have  one  line  at  least  to  make  this  new  page 
appear  with  any  grace,  and  now  it  is  done,  give  me  leave 
to  subscribe  myself.  Dear  Madam,  your  oblidged  friend  and 
grateful  humble  sert.  Robt.  Burns. 

VOL.   I.  —  II 


1 62  Correspondence  between 

(i)  This  is  the  introduction  to  "  The  Poet's  Pro- 
gress "  as  printed  by  Mr.  Scott  Douglas  from  a 
holograph  copy  in  the  possession  of  his  publisher, 
which  he  presumed  to  be  the  identical  copy  sent  to 
Dugald  Stewart  on  20th  January  1789.  The  two 
fragments  transcribed  in  Burns's  letter  of  the  23rd 
October  from  Sanquhar  followed,  and  the  lines  be- 
ginning "  O  dulness  "  sent  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  on  New 
Year's  Day  1789  wound  up  the  poem.  Both  intro- 
duction and  conclusion  were  incorporated  in  the 
Third  Epistle  to  Robert  Graham  of  Fintry,  and 
Burns  never  published  anything  under  the  title  of 
"  The  Poet's  Progress."  It  has  to  be  noted  that  in 
sending  the  MS.  to  Dugald  Stewart  on  20th  Jan- 
uary 1789,  the  poet  wrote :  "  The  fragment  beginning 
*  A  little,  upright,  pert,  tart,'  etc.,  I  have  not  shown  to 
man  living  till  I  now  send  it  to  you,"  which  we  now 
know  to  have  been  untrue,  unless  he  purposely  ex- 
cluded woman  from  the  connotation  of  "  man." 

(2)  "  The  Blue-eyed  Lassie  "  was  published  in 
Johnson's  third  volume,  set  to  a  tune  of  Captain 
Riddel's.  Thomson,  who  published  it  in  his  third 
volume,  set  it  to  the  tune  "  The  blathrie  o't."  The 
subject  of  the  song,  Jean  Jafifray,  daughter  of  the 
minister  of  Lochmaben,  married  a  Mr.  Renwick  of 
New  York,  and  died  in  1850. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

Mauchline. 

t^th  November  '88. 

[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinr.,  Sixth  Novemr.  1788.] 

Dr.  Sr.,  —  I  had  yours  on  Monday,  and  it  is  now  the  fast 
or  feast  of  Thanksgiving,^  according  to  every  one's  ideas  of 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      163 

the  import  of  those  words  and  the  consequences  of  the 
great  event  this  day  is  set  apart  to  commemorate.  While 
nothing  can  be  a  stronger  proof  of  the  falhbiHty  and  con- 
trariety of  the  human  mind  than  to  see  the  worthiest  char- 
acters in  Britain  divided  in  their  opinions  whether  we  ought 
this  day  to  appear  before  our  Creator  with  songs  of  joy  and 
gladness  or  with  the  meek  sigh  and  sackcloth  of  sorrowful 
sinners  groaning  under  punishment  and  repentance,  I,  as  an 
ignorant  woman,  quietly  acquiesce  in  the  ways  of  providence, 
and  implicitly  believe  what  that  does  is  best,  whether  re- 
warding or  correcting.  Yet  I  could  hardly  ever  whip  a 
child  myself  without  crying,  and  far  less  see  another  do  it. 
Perhaps  no  age  or  realm  has  ever  witnessed  more  severe 
discipline  than  what  has  fallen  to  the  share  of  the  Stewart 
race.  I  was  brought  up  in  Revolution  principles ;  reflection 
ought  to  strengthen  them,  and  I  believe  does,  although  all 
my  affections  draw  forever  cross.  You  say  your  heart 
makes  you  a  Christian,  and  I  doubt  mine  makes  me  at  least 
half  a  Jacobite. 

You  tell  me  your  modesty  cryed  Murder  !  when  you  read 
my  letter.  I  write,  when  't  is  to  you,  so  much  from  the 
impulse,  I  had  almost  said  the  inspiration  of  the  minute, 
that  I  cannot  for  my  life  recall  what  I  could  say  to  create  a 
feeling  of  that  kind.  At  least,  however,  I  hope  you  did  not 
suffer  a  painful  death,  though  your  modesty  must  certainly 
be  more  easily  hurt  than  mine,  which  never  yet  was 
wounded  by  the  honest  applause  of  friendship.  The  hyper- 
bole and  superlative  are  called  indications  of  a  weak  mind ; 
therefore  't  is  poor  weak  women  are  allowed  to  use  them, 
and  generally  when  they  are  in  earnest,  I  believe,  make 
ample  use  of  this  prerogative,  and  I  suspect  most  men, 
when  they  believe  us  sincere,   allow  self-love  to  give  an 


164  Correspondence  between 

assenting  smile  to  this  amiable  female  weakness  exerted  in 
their  favours.     Rochefoucault  says  — 

Not  to  admire  is  all  the  art  I  know 

To  make  men  happy  and  to  keep  them  so. 

I  say  to  admire  is  the  very  thing  on  earth  to  make  me 
happiest,  and  to  indulge  myself  in  expressing  it  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  I  feel,  and  in  all  the  superlatives  that  want  of 
expression  calls  into  use,  is  a  pleasure  I  would  not  forego 
for  any  one  I  will  ever  be  offered  in  exchange.  So  say  I, 
let  heros  and  war-sloops  exult  in  their  strength,  and  leave 
me  at  liberty  to  rejoice  in  this  folly,  if  it  is  one,  nor  will  I 
take  your  word  that  I  have  made  you  uneasie  by  it,  for  I 
trust  you  have  not  so  contemptible  an  opinion  of  me  as  to 
imagine  I  would  set  my  hand  to  a  syllable  more  than  I 
thought  at  the  time ;  and  if  I  have  thought  too  much,  I 
suppose  that  is  an  error  in  judgment  you  would  not  put  one 
on  the  rack  to  make  them  retract.  On  the  contrary,  I  feel 
this,  like  most  other  errors,  is  always  the  further  in  the 
deeper. 

I  like  several  of  the  songs  in  the  2nd  vol.  of  the  Miiseu?n, 
much  particularly  those  beginning  "  Tho'  cruel  fate," 
"  Raving  Winds,"  "  Thickest  Night."  One  beginning 
"  Cold  blows  the  Wind,"  and  markt  Z.,  I  took  for  yours, 
and  one  with  a  T.  for  Thomson,  author  of  "The  Choice." 
But  I  have  a  particular  wish  to  know  who  uses  the  signature 
of  D.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  tell  me?  I  am  promised  a 
sight  of  a  tragedy  wrot  by  a  farmer  here.  If  this  promise  is 
kept,  I  shall  tell  you  what  I  think  of  it.  I  dare  not  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  the  characters  you  sent  me  last  for  fear  poor 
squeamish  modesty  should  grow  sick  again,  and  you  should 
think  me  void  of  all  compassion  for  the  uiauvaise  honte. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      165 

By  the  bye,  ever  in  contradiction  with  myself,  I  was  uneasie 
and  vext  at  being  so  long  without  hearing  from  you,  and 
tantalized  and  out  of  humour  when  I  got  your  letter.  Fate 
plays  cross  purposes  with  me  of  late.  You  and  I,  it  seems, 
must  go  like  buckets  in  a  well.  You  are  to  be  at  Dunlop 
on  Hallowday,  while  I  am  in  East  Lothian,  and  to  go  to 
Nithsdale  just  before  I  shall  return  to  Ayrshire,  which  I 
now  think  must  be  in  less  than  a  month.  And  to  crown 
the  jest,  you  are  to  come  to  Haddington  a  month  or  two 
after  I  leave  it.  I  could  almost  say  as  you  do  —  "This  is 
business  of  the  Devil's  making,"  but  these  reprobate  phrases 
don't  suit  a  lady.  As  to  you,  the  world  call  you  one 
so  loudly  that  I  am  sometimes  almost  ashamed  to  attempt 
your  defence.  A  gentleman  told  rae  with  a  grave  face 
the  other  day  that  you  certainly  were  a  sad  wretch, 
that  your  works  were  immoral  and  infamous;  you  lam- 
pooned the  clergy,  and  laught  at  the  ridiculous  parts  of 
religion,  and  he  was  told  were  a  scandalous  free  liver  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  I  said  I  was  certain  he  must  be 
misinformed,  and  asked  if  he  knew  you.  He  told  me  he 
had  been  in  your  company  and  knew  it  was  the  case.  "  I 
beg  pardon,"  said  I,  "  I  could  not  have  guessed  you  had 
ever  seen  him,  or  read  his  book,  by  the  character  you  give 
of  either."  Another  of  the  company  asked  me  if  I  knew 
you.  I  said  I  thought  so,  and  would  be  exceedingly  sorry 
to  be  convinced  1  did  not.  What  did  I  think  of  your 
religion  ?  That  it  was  too  exalted  and  sublime  to  have  any 
ridiculous  parts  capable  of  being  laughed  at.  What  of  that 
illiberal  mind  that  could  fall  foul  of  so  respectable  a  body 
of  men  as  the  clergy  of  Scotland?  That  the  Scots  Bard 
was  far  above  it,  that  no  man  more  regarded  the  pastors  of 
his  people  when  worthy  of  their  calling,  but  that  those  he 


66  Correspondence  between 


exposed  were  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing,  the  bane  of  the 
community,  and  too  black  for  his  ink,  low  beneath  his  pen. 
But  I  begged  to  appeal  to  the  lines  left  in  Mr,  Laurie's 
manse  as  proof  positive  the  clergy  were  not  attacked  in  a 
collective  body.  The  writers  [lawyers]  had  in  my  time 
pensioned  three  men  to  quit  practice  in  their  calling,  as 
their  characters  were  too  atrocious  for  the  reputation  of  the 
profession.  It  would  be  much  for  the  interest  of  some  of 
those  he  celebrates  that  the  same  delicacy  should  take 
place  among  divines.  'T  was  observed  I  was  too  warm. 
I  could  not  acknowledge  that  was  possible  in  behalf  of  a 
character  I  knew,  esteemed  and  admired,  and  which  I 
thought  one  must  renounce  both  taste  and  every  amiable 
disposition  of  the  human  soul  not  to  wish  well  to,  and  view 
with  that  prejudice  which  inclines  to  extenuate  faults  that 
may  exist,  instead  of  listing  with  malice  to  smother  every 
talent  and  virtue,  and  forge  blots  that  never  could  fall  from 
either  the  tongue  or  pen  that  composed  the  "Cotter's 
Saturday  Night."  Farewell.  —  Your  much  obliged  friend 
and  humble  servt.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

I  have  seen  the  Dane ;  ^  he  is  the  gentlest  savage  ever 
was  caught.  He  would  make  no  figure  in  Goldsmith's 
description  drawing  the  tiger  by  the  tongue  from  his  den, 
but  you  may  perhaps  meet  him  where  I  am  sorry  you  can- 
not also  meet  me  at  the  same  time.  We  are  all  getting 
well  again  as  fast  as  we  can,  but  that  is  not  in  a  great  hurry. 
Our  secret  is  known,  but  not  yet  declared,  and  my  charge 
is  ready  to  be  honorably  given  off  my  hand  here.  Sure  you 
think  I  am  banished  the  county,  or  have  forgot  every  duty, 
when  you  could  suppose  I  might  still  be  here  three  months. 
—  Once  more  adieu  ! 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      167 

yh  Navbr.  1788. 

John  and  his  wife  offer  compts.  I  believe  I  shall  go  to 
Edr.  next  week.  If  you  write  me,  direct  to  the  care  of 
William  Kerr,  Esq.,  Post  Office,  Edr. 

(i)  This  day — 5th  November  1788 — was  the 
hundredth  anniversary  of  the  landing  of  William  of 
Orange. 

(2)  M.  Henri,  her  son-in-law  to  be.  Mrs.  Logan 
of  Laicht  had  told  Burns  that  he  was  a  Dane. 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop,  care  of  William  Kerr,  Esq., 
Post  Office,  Edinburgh. 

Mauchline,  \y:h  Nov.  1788. 

Madam,  —  I  had  the  very  great  pleasure  of  dining  at 
Dunlop  yesterday.  Men  are  said  to  flatter  women  because 
they  are  weak ;  if  it  is  so,  Poets  must  be  weaker  still ;  for 
Misses  Rachel  and  Keith,  and  Miss  Georgina  M'Kay,  with 
their  flattering  attentions  and  artful  compliments,  abso- 
lutely turned  my  head.  I  own  they  did  not  lard  me  over 
as  many  a  Poet  does  his  patron  or  still  more  his  Patroness, 
nor  did  they  sugar  me  up  as  a  Cameronian  Preacher  does 
Jesus  Christ ;  but  they  so  intoxicated  me  with  their  sly 
insinuations  and  delicate  innuendoes  of  Compliment  that 
if  it  had  not  been  for  a  lucky  recollection  how  much  addi- 
tional weight  and  lustre  your  good  opinion  and  friendship 
must  give  me  in  that  circle,  I  had  certainly  looked  on  my- 
self as  a  person  of  no  small  consequence.  I  dare  not 
say  one  word  how  much  I  was  charmed  with  the  Major's 
friendly  welcome,  elegant  manner  and  acute  remark,  lest 
I  should  be  thought  to  balance  my  orientalisms  of  applause 
over  against  the  finest  Quey  in  Ayrshire,  which  he  made 


1 68  Correspondence  between 

me  a  present  of  to  help  and  adorn  my  farm  stock.  As  it 
was  on  Hallowday,  I  am  determined,  annually  as  that  day 
returns,  to  decorate  her  horns  with  an  Ode  of  gratitude  to 
the  family  of  Dunlop. 

The  Songs  in  the  second  Vol.  of  the  Museum  marked  D. 
are  Dr.  Blacklock's ;  but,  as  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  are  far 
short  of  his  other  works,  I,  who  only  know  the  cyphers  of 
them  all,  shall  never  let  it  be  known.  Those  marked  T.  are 
the  works  of  an  obscure,  tippling,  but  extraordinary  body 
of  the  name  of  Tytler ;  ^  a  mortal  who,  though  he  drudges 
about  Edinburgh  as  a  common  Printer,  with  leaky  shoes, 
a  sky-lighted  hat,  and  knee-buckles  as  unlike  as  George-by- 
the-grace-of-God  and  Solomon-the-son-of-David,  yet  that 
same  unknown,  drunken  Mortal  is  author  and  compiler  of 
three-fourths  of  Elliot's  pompous  E^icydopedia  Britannica. 
Those  marked  Z.  I  have  given  to  the  world  as  old  verses 
to  their  respective  tunes ;  but  in  fact,  of  a  good  many  of 
them,  little  more  than  the  Chorus  is  ancient ;  tho'  there 
is  no  reason  for  telling  everybody  this  piece  of  intelligence. 
Next  letter  I  write  you,  I  shall  send  one  or  two  sets  of 
verses  I  intend  for  Johnson's  third  Volume. 

What  you  mention  of  the  thanksgiving  day  is  inspiration 
from  above.  Is  it  not  remarkable,  odiously  remarkable, 
that  tho'  manners  are  more  civilized,  and  the  rights  of  man- 
kind better  understood  by  an  Augustan  Century's  improve- 
ment, yet  in  this  very  reign  of  heavenly  Hanoverianism,  and 
almost  in  this  very  year,  an  empire  beyond  the  Atlantic  has 
its  REVOLUTION  too,  and  for  the  very  same  maladministra- 
tion and  legislative  misdemeanours  in  the  illustrious  and 
sapientipotent  Family  of  Hanover  as  was  complained  of 
in  the   "tyrannical  and  bloody  house  of  Stuart." 

So  soon  as  I  know  of  your  arrival  at  Dunlop  I  shall  take 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      169 

the  first  conveniency  to  dedicate  a  day  or,  perhaps,  two  to 
you  and  Friendship,  under  the  guarantee  of  the  Major's  hos- 
pitaHty.  There  will  soon  be  threescore  and  ten  miles  of 
permanent  distance  between  us ;  and  now  that  your  friend- 
ship and  friendly  correspondence  is  entwisted  with  the  heart- 
strings of  my  enjoyment  of  life,  I  must  indulge  myself  in  a 
festive  day  of  "  The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul." 
—  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Madam,  your  grateful  humble 
servant,  Robt.  Burns. 

(i)  James  Tytler,  a  son  of  the  manse,  born  1747. 
He  began  life  as  a  chemist,  but  ill  luck,  added  to  an 
inclination  to  literary  work,  obliged  him  to  give  up. 
He  was  practically  editor  of  the  second  edition  of  the 
Encyclopcedia  Britaniiica  (1777-84).  His  extraor- 
dinary versatility  is  shown  by  the  number  of  his 
works,  many  of  which  he  printed  himself,  having 
constructed  a  press  from  old  material.  His  works 
include  a  History  of  Edbibm'gh  and  a  System  of 
Geography ;  besides  which  he  translated  Virgil's 
Eclogues,  wrote  poetry,  commented  on  the  origin 
and  antiquity  of  the  Scottish  nation,  and  was  a  volu- 
minous contributor  to  the  current  periodical  litera- 
ture. He  also  experimented  with  a  fire  balloon  with 
partial  success,  but  want  of  means  obliged  him  to 
discontinue.  From  this  he  was  nicknamed  "  Balloon  " 
Tytler.  His  political  views  brought  him  into  trouble 
as  one  of  the  Friends  of  the  People ;  he  fled  to  Ire- 
land, and  in  1793  was  outlawed  by  the  High  Court 
of  Justiciary.  He  died  in  1804,  at  Salem,  Mass. 
Andrew  Bell  was   chief  proprietor  and  publisher  of 


170  Correspondence  between 

the  Encyclopcedia  Britaiinica.     C.  Elliot  was  an  Edin- 
burgh publisher  who  had  a  share  in  the  work. 

Ad.  Miss  DuNLOPji  Dunlop  House. 

Monday  Morn. 

Madam,  —  Tho'  I  am  not  always  what  Glenalvon  calls 
"  The  shallow  fool  of  coward  Conscience,"  yet  I  have 
a  something  in  my  bosom,  a  kind  of  feeling  of  Propriety 
or  Impropriety  where  I  am  the  veriest  coward  on  earth. 
My  horrid  sin  of  this  kind  against  you  has  compleatly 
gagged  me,  that  I  can't  write  to,  or  approach  you,  were  it 
to  redeem  me  from  perdition.  If  I  can  pluck  up  so  much 
courage,  I  '11  call  at  Dunlop-house  on  Wedensday  or  Thurs- 
day, perhaps  at  Wedensday's  breakfast  hour.  —  I  have  the 
honor  to  be,  Madam,  your  most  penitent  humble  servt. 

RoBT.  Burns. 

(i)  This  note,  undated,  is  placed  here  conjecturally. 
The  lady  to  whom  it  is  addressed  was  doubtless 
Agnes  Dunlop,  who  afterwards  became  Mrs.  Perochon 
(see  Introduction),  and  who  was  buried  in  the  poet's 
grave. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 
Mossgill,  Mauchline. 

MoRHAM  Mains,  i-^tk  Novbr.  1788. 
[Franked  by  Kerr :  Edinr.,  Fifteenth  Novr.  1788.] 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  am  to  acknowledge  the  favour  of  two  let- 
ters *  from  you  since  my  last.  You  don't  know  how  much 
I  plume  myself  upon  having  credit  with  you  to  enable  me 
to  incur  such  a  debt.  Yet,  while  I  own  the  claim  like 
other  bankrupts,  I  shall  probably  pay  a  very  slight  compo- 
sition, but  I  will  not,  however,  wish  for  horns  to  stick  my 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      171 

creditor  or  claws  to  dig  my  way  out  of  your  sight.  On  the 
contrary,  I  am  half  tempted  to  arraign  Providence  that  will 
not  allow  me  to  rush  into  your  honoured  presence,  were  it 
not  that  sovereign  Power  has  at  present  made  me  sensible 
things  happen  sometimes  for  the  best,  even  when  most 
athwart  our  wishes;  for  at  this  moment  I  must  confess 
(what  the  week  before  I  should  have  deem'd  impossible) 
that  I  would  rather  see  your  letter  than  yourself.  I  have 
for  some  days  past  had  a  return  of  my  former  deafness, 
brought  on,  too,  I  think,  as  it  was  before,  by  uneasiness  of 
mind.  Mrs.  Dunlop  was  one  day  taken  ill,  and  I  feared  a 
fever  for  her.  My  spirits  were  sunk,  too,  by  rather  uneasie 
apprehensions  about  my  other  young  people,  whose  situa- 
tion is  yet  hid  in  night,  and  who,  I  much  fear,  are  not  so 
well  suited  as  I  could  wish  to  buffet  fortune  in  the  dark ; 
nor  do  I  wish  the  world  should  see  my  fears  on  that  head 
before  they  are  removed  or  confirmed.  'Tis  for  most 
lovers,  especially  of  the  modern  cast,  a  more  tremendous 
venture  to  dare  the  gulph  of  matrimony  than  to  jump  dowm 
the  promontory  of  Leucatelli,  for  more  people  can  swim 
the  ocean  than  can  rise  above  the  tide  of  vanity,  whose 
abyss  is  unfathomable.  I  trust,  however,  you  have  no 
painful  feeling  of  this  truth,  which  has  frequently  cut  me 
to  the  quick.  But  to  call  another  cause ;  you  ask  my 
opinion  of  your  works.  Know,  other  poets  do  the  same, 
and  you  may  prepare  to  behold  me  bloated  with  full-blown 
self-conceit.  I  told  you  I  expected  a  sight  of  a  tragedy 
wrot  by  a  farmer  here.  I  could  only  obtain  it  on  con- 
dition of  passing  my  august  verdict  on  its  merits.  This, 
believe  me,  was  almost  too  strong  a  doze  for  all  my  curi- 
osity to  gulp  down,  for  indeed  I  did  not  expect  my  opin- 
ion would   be   such   as  could  consistently  with   truth  and 


172  Correspondence  between 

delicacy  be  told.  Yet  I  had  an  irresistible  desire  to  see 
the  work,  that  I  might  tell  you  what  I  thought  of  it,  for 
really  I  think  at  heart  this  was  my  motive.  I  promised, 
and  I  honestly  performed.  "  Darthula,"  ^  Mr.  Mylne  of 
Lochhill's  tragedy,  gave  me  so  much  pleasure,  that  I  asked 
leave  to  recommend  you  to  a  reading  of  it  should  you  be 
at  Haddington,  and  should  truly  be  proud  of  myself  should 
your  ideas  and  mine  meet  on  its  faults  and  beauties ;  for  I 
ventured  to  speak  my  mind  of  both  in  a  letter  to  the  gen- 
tleman who  procured  it  for  me,  who  told  me  he  would  send 
it  to  the  author,  whom  I  have  never  seen,  but  who,  I  dare 
say,  is  a  worthy,  good-hearted  man,  possest  of  a  genius  to 
please  others  and  make  himself  happy.  He  does  not  want 
imagination  or  elevation  of  sentiment ;  his  diction  is  plain, 
simple,  and  unaffected,  without  being  low;  his  moral  good 
and  naturally  deduced  from  his  story ;  he  introduces  the 
chorus,  which  I  dislike,  but  manages  it  so  beautifully  as  to 
conquer  my  prejudices  on  that  head,  and  I  seriously  advise 
you  to  go  four  miles  out  of  your  road  in  coming  to  Had- 
dington to  see  what  I  am  convinced  you  will  think  a  suffi- 
cient reward  for  your  trouble.  Yet  I  will  candidly  own,  it 
in  my  mind  wants  something  I  think  it  would  have  had, 
had  it  been  penned  by  my  friend.  Besides,  the  original 
opulence  of  the  author  did  not  preclude  those  accidental 
advantages  which  decorate  and  call  forth  mediocrity  often 
on  terms  that  all  the  native  energy  of  the  human  soul  must 
be  on  the  stretch  to  rise  equal  to  from  a  less  exalted  ground, 
and  to  which  I  have  perhaps  never  seen  more  than  one 
man  able  to  spring  up  at  once  unassisted  from  the  pit  of 
helpless  depression.  This  farmer  rents  ^1500  a  year,  and 
has  married  his  daughter  to  an  agreeable  man  with  ^\  2,000. 
These    circumstances    have    made    his    acquaintance    less 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      173 


attractive  to  me,  as  they  don't  require  such  undoubted 
powers  of  character  as  must  be  displayed  by  the  man  who 
attains  equal  or  superiour  perfection  without  them.  I 
would  gladly  have  transcribed  some  lines  for  you,  but  I 
was  trusted,  and  did  not  hold  it  honest  even  in  behalf  of 
my  friend.  I  have  not  time  to  give  a  critique  on  your 
verses  [pp.  159,  161]  just  now.  Suffice  to  say,  they  de- 
serve and  can  bear  it.  The  song  I  think  a  sweet,  simple 
little  thing,  quite  fit  for  a  song,  but  I  have  not  light  enough 
to  sign  my  name,  far  less  to  say  with  what  regard  I  am,  Dr. 
Burns,  your  sincere  friend  and  humble  servt. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

I  have  lighted  the  candle  to  tell  you  that  I  believe  I 
shall  be  in  Edr.  the  week  after  next,  where  I  may  possibly 
be  forced  to  remain  ten  days  longer,  but  if  you  are  so  good 
as  write  me,  address  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop,  care  of 
William  Kerr,  Esqr.,  Surveyor  of  the  General  Post-Ofiice, 
Edr.,  when  I  shall  certainly  get  your  letter.  All  happiness 
ever  attend  you  and  yours  wherever  you  go,  and  may  you 
meet  friends  everywhere  as  sincere  as  those  you  leave  be- 
hind you.  I  wish  you  to  be  as  much  pleased  with  the  lat- 
ter as  the  former,  or  that  any  new  acquisition  should  sink 
the  value  of  the  old.  Farewell.  John  and  his  wife  offer 
compts. 

i^th  Novr.  '88. 

(i)  Mrs.  Dunlop  must  have  forgotten  hers  of  the 
5th;  it  is  unlikely  that  she  received  tvvo  letters  — 
both  missing  —  between  the  5th  and  the  13th. 

(2)  James  Mylne,  farmer  and  poet,  of  Lochhill,  in 
the  parish  of  Morham.     He   died    in   December  of 


174  Correspondence  between 

this  year,  and  his  Hterary  remains,  about  which  Burns 
was  consulted,  were  pubHshed  in  1790  under  the  title 
of  Poems,  Consisting  of  Misccllancons  Pieces  and 
Two  Tragedies,  by  the  late  James  Mylne,  at  Lochhill. 

To  Burns. 

MoRHAM  Mains,  z^th  Nov.  178S. 

Dr.  Burns,  —  I   have  been  very  ill  since  I  wrote  you 

last.     I   fear  my  constitution   sympathizes  too  much  with 

G.  R.  [King  George  III.],  for,  eating  and  sleeping  and 

looking  about  as  well  as  women  at  threescore  commonly 

do,  I  am  deprived  of  my  senses.     I  have  been  almost  blind 

and  wholly  deaf  for  a   fortnight  past.     I  hope  you  shall 

never  be  so  well  acquainted  with  this  state  as  to  judge 

truly  how  much  commiseration  it  claims.     How  I  pity  the 

King !  — 

When  eye  nor  ear  convey  or  light  or  sound, 
The  famish'd  mind  can  hardly  stand  her  ground; 
Her  gates  block'd  up  from  every  aid  beneath. 
The  wicket  scarce  admits  of  hope  or  faith  ; 
The  noblest  virtues  of  the  soul  decay, 
Even  meek-eyed  charity  is  chased  away ; 
Poor  fancy  tamed  strikes  but  unmeaning  notes. 
As  birds  in  cages  swell  their  joyless  throats. 
Where  Colston's  shady  path  'twixt  hedge-rows  lay 
I  chearless  wand'ring  stray'd  the  other  day. 
Deep  sunk  in  mud  the  shoes  desert  my  tread ; 
Close  clasping  boughs  thick  arch  above  my  head ; 
Angry  heaven's  dark  black'ning  aspect  lowers ; 
Chill  bitter  rain  in  tumbling  torrents  pours ; 
Half  blind,  and  blasted  by  the  breath  of  Fate, 
Deaf  to  the  voice  that  warn'd  me  of  my  state; 
Above  the  threat'ning  thunders  roll'd  unheard, 
Around,  red  forky  light'nings  flash'd  unfear'd ; 
In  languid  fullness  thought  itself  was  lost. 
And  too  insipid  even  to  be  crost. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      175 

Now  piercing  wet  dash'd  cold  through  every  part, 

A  friendly  letter  scrimply  eased  my  heart : 

Its  kindly  warmth  (I  think)  repell'd  the  rain, 

There  blustering  Boreas  seem'd  to  beat  in  vain. 

O'er  the  loved  lines  remembrance  grateful  run, 

The  poet  bade  me,  "  My  best  duty  done, 

Then  chearful  welcome  what  I  could  not  shun." 

'Tis  the  first  duty  sure  that's  in  our  power, 

To  fly  each  tempest  of  life's  stormy  hour. 

To  right,  to  left,  intent  I  turn  my  eye. 

And  search  if  haply  shelter  might  be  nigh. 

I  spy'd  where  long  imbower'd  in  lofty  wood 

The  stately  dome  of  Lennox-love  ^  has  stood ; 

Faint  memory  quicken'd  at  the  gladsome  view. 

Hollows  on  hope  a  back-scent  to  pursue : 

In  early  prime  I  held  at  school  a  place 

With  four  young  inmates  of  the  Stuart  race. 

I  thither  sped ;  the  hospitable  gate 

Spontaneous  folds  me  from  the  winter's  hate, 

A  gentle  nymph  in  mildest  accent  spoke 

(I  heard  not  when  the  aweful  thunder  broke) : 

Kindness  can  o'er  the  elements  prevail. 

My  ear  delighted  caught  her  soothing  tale. 

"  My  friend,  come  in  this  sacred  mansion  know, 

A  secret  few  are  ever  taught  below 

(Though  Cupid  always  like  a  child  appears); 

Friendship  can  live  to  more  than  forty  years." 

Fair  Stuart's  secret  I  to  you  impart. 

And  thank  the  friendly  hand  that  warm'd  my  heart. 

Spite  of  my  internal  heaviness,  I  have  pleasure  in  marking 
by  what  broken  starts  your  genius  bursts  forth  like  the  first 
streams  that  enlighten  the  dawn  of  morn,  and  rather  break 
darkness  as  give  light.  I  never  suspected  any  thinking 
being  wiser  than  myself  had  formed  detached  lines  unap- 
propriated to  any  particular  purpose,  but  while  this  similar- 
ity between  a  wonderful  man  and  a  silly  woman  amuses  me, 
I  am  not  able  to  judge  your  work ;  not  for  want  of  leisure. 


1/6  Correspondence  between 

for  to  read  your  letters  is  my  most  important  business,  the 
most  pleasant  and  most  profitable  I  have,  but  that  my 
giddy  head  is  unable  to  retain  thoughts.  I  shall  go  to 
Edr.  on  Wednesday,  if  I  am  tolerably  well,  where  I  shall 
be  glad  Lady  Wallace  don't  keep  me  till  you  are  gone. 
My  son  could  not  oblige  me  more  than  by  his  kind  behav- 
iour to  you,  nor  do  I  know  which  would  flatter  me  most, 
to  believe  it  the  genuine  produce  of  innate  taste  or  of  com- 
placence to  mine.  Meanwhile,  I  am  pleased  to  pronounce 
him  deficient  in  neither.  As  I  will  carry  this  to  town  to  be 
franked,  if  I  then  can  fix  my  time  for  being  west,  I  will  tell 
it  in  a  postscript.     Adieu. 

MoRHAM,  Wednesday. 

Here  I  am  still.  A  letter  this  moment  tells  me  Lady 
Wallace  cannot  leave  town  this  week ;  so  I  have  stole  two 
days  more  of  the  rational  delight  a  country  farmhouse 
would  afford  me  were  I  in  a  state  to  enjoy  it.  I  am  sure 
nothing  in  the  metropolis  can  replace  it.  That  you  may 
understand  the  former  pages  of  this,  I  must  tell  you  in 
plain  prose  that  I  found  in  Miss  Stuart  of  Blantyre  the 
companion  of  my  childhood.  We  met  as  we  parted  after 
an  interval  of  forty-five  years.  She  showed  me  my  name 
sewed  at  that  time  in  her  sampler,  inclosed  in  a  heart,  and 
amid  those  of  her  parents  and  seven  brothers  and  sisters, 
most  of  whom  are  now  dead  —  and  so  small  and  finely 
wrought  that  I  could  not  perceive  it  without  glasses.  Our 
dialogue  on  this  occasion  was  much  as  follows.  Indeed 
the  only  poetic  fiction  is  the  thunder,  for  the  incident  of 
the  letter  was  real,  as  it  supplied  the  place  of  a  wet  stom- 
acher to  a  very  clay-cold,  shivering,  lifeless  heart,  after  the 
only  shower  I  have  seen  in  this  country  in  seven  months. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      177 

She.  Behold  the  pledge  of  Innocence  and  Youth  ; 
Work'd  in  true  blue,  the  emblem  of  pure  truth, 
Your  name  there  stands ! 

7.  That  little  name  that  fills  so  small  a  space 
Stands  highly  honoured  midst  your  royal  race. 

She.  Mark  where  it  stands  :  my  fondness  fixt  your  part, 
Just  in  the  centre  of  my  inmost  heart. 
My  father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters  round ; 
Alas !     How  many  strew  the  fatal  ground  ! 

/.  Alas  !     How  vain  for  past  events  to  mourn, 
Then  let  us  welcome  what  we  cannot  shun. 
To  her  your  moral,  you  her  kindness  I  disclose. 
And  bless  in  dreams  each  friend  of  my  repose. 

Poor  Mr.  Mylne,  the  poet  I  spoke  of  in  my  last,  unfor- 
tunately for  me,  but  more  so  for  him,  was  kept  out  of  my 
sight  by  his  wife  and  seven  of  his  children  being  all  in  fevers. 
He  is  said  to  be  a  man  of  great  worth,  but  I  am  told  I 
should  not  like  him.  I  cannot  think  how  people  know,  for 
I  never  can  guess  myself  who  I  would  like  beforehand,  sel- 
dom tell  why  after. 

(i)  Lennoxlove  —  the  name  of  the  seat  of  the 
Stuarts  of  Blantyre,  near  Morham  Mains. 

Mr.  RoBT.  Burns,  Mosegill,  Mauchline. 

Then,  Mosegill  and  Mauchline  crossed  out,  and 
"  at  Ellisland  near  Dumfries  "  written  in. 

RosECOURT,!  Edr.,   Tuesday. 
[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinr.,  Third  Decemr.  1788.] 

I  am  now  in  Edr.,  from  whence   I   said  in  the   former 

sheet  I   would  write  and  acquaint  you  of  my  motions.     I 

cannot  hope  to  be  in  Ayrshire  for  yet  a  week  longer,  nor 

dare  I  hope  you  will  still  be  there  when  I  come.     I  sin- 

VOL.  I.  — 12 


178  Correspondence  between 

cerely  regret  this,  as  seeing  the  very  few  friends  I  Uke  is 
the  greatest  enjoyment  the  world  has  in  store  for  me,  and 
it  is  with  peculiar  pleasure  I  think  you  permit  me  to  enroll 
you  in  their  number,  and  flatter  me  that  you  are  sincere,  as 
well  as  polite,  when  you  return  me  the  compliment.  I 
shall  see  my  good  friend  Mr.  Kerr  to-morrow,  and  commit 
this  to  his  care  for  Mossgiel,  as  I  trust,  if  you  are  removed, 
your  brother  will  have  your  address,  a  deposit  with  which 
you  have  forgot  to  favour  me ;  and  in  the  meantime  I  shall 
indulge  myself  in  scribbling  whatever  comes  uppermost, 
since  it  will  cost  you  nothing  but  the  trouble  of  reading, 
which  you  know  is  in  your  own  power  to  take  or  not,  and 
which  I  allege  you  accordingly  sometimes  decline.  I  fol- 
low your  idea  of  a  progressive  sheet,  to  put  you  in  mind  of 
it,  as  a  plan  from  which  I  have  already  drawn  many  visions 
of  future  delight,  as  I  am  conscious  your  time  must  now  be 
much  too  precious  to  hope  you  can  give  me  much  of  it  at 
once,  but  now  and  then  a  start  of  a  few  lines  may  be  a 
relaxation  to  yourself,  and  a  feast  to  me  beyond  what  three 
courses  and  a  dessert  could  afford.  As  to  your  promised 
visit,  whenever  you  should  hear  I  was  come  home,  I  must 
not  reckon  on  that  but  as  a  poetic  flight ;  when  I  consider 
the  many  important  affairs  lie  on  your  hand,  and  the  many 
for  whom  all  your  utmost  efforts  are  now  become  requisite, 
reason  tells  me  it  cannot,  indeed  ought  not  to  be  more. 
And  I  am  too  truly  your  friend  to  wish  you  even  to  see 
me  at  the  expense  of  doing  what  you  would  find  took  you 
too  long  from  the  inspection  of  your  now  complicated 
cares,  and  would  appear  to  other  people  as  well  as  to 
yourself,  when  past,  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  be  made  to 
any  friend  who  can  be  of  no  real  use  to  you  or  your 
family.     If  I  may  judge  by  what  I  have  seen  of  late,  a 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      179 

farmer  has  no  time  almost  at  liberty ;  at  least  I  have  never 
in  seven  months  seen  my  son  able  to  afford  one  day's 
absence,  seldom  two  hours,  without  finding  something  neg- 
lected and  wrong  at  his  return.  His  exertions  are  not 
called  for  by  so  many  voices  as  yours ;  if  they  are  neces- 
sary, yours  must  be  still  more  so,  and  I  must,  although 
't  is  arguing  so  powerfully  against  myself,  remind  you  that 
both  you  and  I  must  and  ought  now  to  live  more  for  our 
children  than  for  ourselves  :  so  that  I  dare  not  even  wish 
you  to  come  from  so  enormous  a  distance  to  see  me  with 
so  much  fatigue  and  loss  of  time  to  yourself  as  it  were 
to  come  for  a  day  from  Nithsdale.  Yet,  should  you  be 
remaining  in  our  county  when  I  return,  I  will  positively 
insist  on  your  promise,  and  send  to  claim  it,  if  you  let  me 
know  by  return  of  post  that  you  will  be  found  so  late  as 
the  middle  of  next  week ;  for  I  think  my  time  will  be  there 
and  thereabouts ;  but  as  it  does  not  depend  upon  myself, 
I  cannot  be  positive  to  a  few  days  out  or  in.  I  would  like 
to  know  who  your  song  "  Clarinda  "  ^  was  addrest  to,  or  if 
it  was  quite  Q.jeu  d' esprit.  Pray  tell  me,  since  you  despise 
prudence  so  much  as  sometimes  to  tell  a  woman  a  secret, 
which  I  was  so  unfaithful  as  to  read  to  one  man  before  you 
had  warned  me  it  was  one.  However,  it  is  of  small  con- 
sequence, as  he  is  little  in  the  world,  and  wholly  unac- 
quainted with  the  travelled  monkey^  whose  character  I 
read,  but  neither  named  him  nor  the  author.  This  was 
the  more  unfortunate  as  it  was  the  only  instance  in  which 
I  ever  used  such  a  liberty  with  any  production  you  had 
entrusted  me  with,  but  I  really  was  much  taken  with  the 
drawing  both  of  it  and  Crochallan,  and  wished  to  see  if 
other  people  would  be  the  same.  The  beginning,  I  think 
likeways,    has   a   most   masterly   strength    and   originaUty, 


i8o  Correspondence  between 

which  truly  marks  it  your  own.  I  am  only  angry  at  these 
kind  of  masculine  productions  because  they  are,  when  I 
read  them  before  my  trifles,  like  a  beef-steak  syned 
[rinsed]  down  with  water  gruel,  and  make  me  sick  of 
an  amusement  pleased  me  before.  Yet,  since  like  a  child 
I  have  found  pleasure  in  catching  butterflys,  why  should 
I  not  just  go  on  playing  myself  so  innocently?  Will  it 
not  even  be  more  childish  to  give  up  the  chase  in  a  pet 
because  your  game  is  an  ortalonque  and  mine  only  a 
fly  ?  —  not  a  gnat,  but  of  those  harmless  insects  that  never 
sting  myself  or  any  one  else ;  whereas  when  you  fall  a-sat- 
irizing,  't  is  as  dangerous  as  King  Henry  the  Fourth's  bear- 
hunting  with  which  they  entertained  the  ladies  of  the 
French  court,  where  the  bears  were  like  to  hug  their  pur- 
suers to  death.  Especially  when  you  attack  the  clergy  or 
the  booksellers,  they  threaten  you  with  a  mortal  squeeze 
in  return,  which  I  dread  may  hurt  you  more  essentially 
than  your  sharpest  sting  can  do  them.  They  are  like 
game-cocks ;  they  fight  with  more  than  natural  weapons, 
and  strike  their  antagonist  through  the  heart.  Nor  can 
any  letter  of  mine  protect  it,  as  yours  did  mine  in  the 
piece  I  send  you  called  "  Lennoxlove  :  inscribed  to  a 
Friend."  Pray  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it.  I  think  you 
were  guilty  of  more  than  female  affectation  when  you  sup- 
pose me  wanting  leizure  to  read  anything  you  send  me. 
Know  I  would  steal  those  precious  minutes  from  meat, 
sleep,  company  —  I'm  afraid  from  my  prayers,  could  I 
not  otherways  command  it.  But  you  will  retaliate,  and 
say  with  some  shadow  of  reason  too,  that  't  is  all  affecta- 
tion I  have  said  about  your  ideal  visit,  for  had  I  set  half 
the  value  on  your  time  which  I  pretend  to  do,  I  would  not 
have   made  you  squander  so  much  of  it  at  present  to  so 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      i8i 

little  purpose.  So  I  shall  end  this,  as  Bailie  Simond  does 
his  dinner,  with  "  Nothing  furder,"  supposing  you  may  also 
use  his  words  too,  and  reply  "  I  have  got  satisfaction." 
Adieu !  Write  me  to  the  care  of  William  Kerr,  Esqr., 
Surveyor  of  the  General  Post-Office,  Edr.,  who  will  know 
to  give  it  me  here,  or  send  it  after  me  should  I  be  gone. 
Dr.  Sir,  farewell.  Write  me,  I  beg  you,  for  I  am  miserably 
deaf  and  blind,  nor  could  powers  inferior  to  your  own 
give  pleasure  to  your  sincere  friend, 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Rose  Court  was  a  house  in  George  Street,  the 
first  edifice  built  in  New  Edinburgh,  the  foundation 
stone  having  been  laid  in  1767.  Possibly  Lady 
Wallace  removed  thither  after  the  fire  in  her  house 
in  James's  Court. 

(2)  "  A  Farewell  to  Clarinda,"  sent  to  Mrs.  Dun- 
lop early  in  the  year.     See  antea,  p.  6^. 

(3)  See  Burns's  letter  of  23rd  October,  mitea, 
p.  157. 

Burns's  wanderings  between  Dumfriesshire  and 
Ayrshire  now  came  to  a  close.  In  the  first  week  of 
December  he  brought  his  wife  to  the  banks  of  the 
Nith,  lodging  her  temporarily  in  a  neighbouring 
farm-house,  as  the  building  at  Ellisland  was  not  yet 
quite  finished.  It  was  a  happy  time  for  the  poet,  and 
his  satisfaction  with  himself  and  the  world  showed  it- 
self in  his  writings,  both  prose  and  verse,  the  latter 
of  which  included  about  this  period  the  "  Elegy  on 
the  Year  1788,"  "Robin  shure  in  Hairst,"  "Cale- 
donia, a  Ballad,"  "  I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  ain." 


1 82  Correspondence  between 


Note. 

The  following  letter  was  first  printed  in  the  second 
volume  of  the  Wori's  of  Robert  Burns,  edited  by  Dr. 
Currie,  published  in  1800.  There,  however,  it  was 
printed  without  the  words  of  "  Auld  lang  syne,"  but 
with  a  foot-note  of  reference  to  the  different  version 
sent  by  Burns  to  George  Thomson  in  1793,  and  given 
in  the  fourth  volume  of  Currie's  edition.  This  orig- 
inated an  inference  that  the  same  version  of  the  song 
had  been  sent  by  Burns  to  both  correspondents ;  and 
subsequent  editors,  improving  upon  that  inference, 
printed  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  in  combination 
with  the  words  of  the  song  as  written  for  Thomson. 
Distrust  of  Currie's  methods  kept  alive  a  lingering 
suspicion  that,  in  this  case,  as  in  numerous  others,  he 
had  tampered  with  the  original  letter.  Scott  Douglas, 
editing  the  Works  of  Robert  Burns,  1877,  wrote: 
"  The  poet  transcribed  the  song  for  Mrs.  Dunlop  in 
his  letter,  dated  17th  December  1788,  and  it  is  un- 
fortunate that  Dr.  Currie  did  not  print  a  verbatim 
copy  of  it  along  with  that  letter,  instead  of  simply 
referring  his  reader  to  the  Thomson  correspondence 
for  it."  Many  a  student  of  Burns,  before  and  since, 
has  wished  that  Currie  had  done  this ;  and  has  criti- 
cised the  "  unfortunate  "  methods  practised  by  him 
upon  this,  and  upon  many  others  of  these  letters. 

Now  that  wish  is  gratified ;  for  the  words  of  *'  Auld 
lang  syne,"  herein  given,  are  transcribed  verbatim 
from  the  original  Burns  manuscript,  now  in  the  pos- 
session of  Mrs.  J.  V.  L.  Pruyn,  Albany,  N.  Y.  A 
photographic  fac-simile  of  the  document  was  pub- 
lished in  The  Century  Magazine  for  February,  1898, 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      183 

in  illustration  of  an  article  by  Cuyler  Reynolds, 
entitled  The  Manuscript  of  '^  Aiild  Lang  Syne." 

The  Pruyn  manuscript  consists  of  a  single  quarto  leaf 
of  the  Burns  letter,  having  on  one  side  the  first  three 
verses  and  the  chorus,  and  on  the  other  side  the  last 
two  verses  of  "  Auld  lang  syne,"  the  prose  lines  begin- 
ning "  Light  be  the  turf,"  and  the  first  verse  only  of 
"  My  Bonie  Mary  "  ;  so  that  both  the  beginning  and 
the  ending  of  the  letter  have  either  been  lost  since 
Currie  had  it,  or  are  now  in  other  and  unknown  hands. 

The  mistake  in  writing  "  sye  "  for  "  syne,"  in  the 
fourth  line  of  the  chorus,  was  undoubtedly  only  a  slip 
of  the  poet's  pen.  With  him,  as  with  most  other 
writers,  such  slips  occasionally  happen ;  and  in  the 
hurried  way  in  which  he  was  often  obliged  to  write, 
that  is  no  wonder.  In  the  copy  of  "  Tarn  o'  Shanter," 
which  he  wrote  for  Mrs.  Dunlop,  there  are  two  in- 
stances of  important  omissions.  He  copied  :  — 
They  had  been  for  weeks  thegither, 

omitting  the  word  "  fu',"  which  gives  pith  to  the  Hne. 
And  again,  he  copied  :  — 

The  Landlady  grew  gracious, 

leaving  out  "  and  Tam,"  without  whose  name  it  were 
doubtful  upon  whom  she  bestowed  her  "  favors,  secret, 
sweet  and  precious."  Indeed,  Mrs.  Dunlop  herself  had 
been  in  doubt,  for  she  supplies  the  omitted  words  in  this 
way:  — 

The  Landlady  grew  unco  gracious. 
Acknowledgment  is  due  to  Mrs.  J.  V.  L.  Pruyn,  to 
Mr.  Cuyler  Reynolds,  and  to  The  Century  Company, 
for  united  consent  to  the  present  use  of  the  original 

Burns  letter.  R.  B.  Adam. 

Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  7th  March,  1898. 


184  Correspondence  between 

To  Mrs.  DuNLOP. 

Ellisland,  \-]th  December  1788. 

My  dear  honored  Friend,  —  Yours,  dated  Edinburgh, 
which  I  have  just  read,  makes  me  very  unhappy.  "  Almost 
blind  and  wholly  deaf"  are  melancholy  news  of  human- 
nature  ;  but  when  told  of  a  much-loved  and  honored  friend, 
they  carry  misery  in  the  sound.  Goodness  on  your  part 
and  gratitude  on  mine  began  a  tie  which  has  gradually  and 
strongly  entwisted  itself  among  the  dearest  chords  of  my 
bosom ;  and  I  tremble  at  the  omens  of  your  late  and 
present  ailing  habit  and  shattered  health.  You  miscalcu- 
late matters  widely  when  you  forbid  my  waiting  on  you, 
lest  it  should  hurt  my  worldly  concerns.  My  small  scale  of 
farming  is  exceedingly  more  simple  and  easy  than  what 
you  have  lately  seen  at  Moreham  Mains.  But  be  that  as  it 
may,  the  heart  of  the  man  and  the  fancy  of  the  poet  are  the 
two  grand  considerations  for  which  I  live  :  if  miry  ridges  and 
dirty  dunghills  are  to  engross  the  best  part  of  the  functions 
of  my  soul  immortal,  I  had  better  have  been  a  rook  or  a 
magpie  all  at  once,  and  then  I  should  not  have  been 
plagued  with  any  ideas  superior  to  breaking  of  clods  and 
picking  up  grubs,  not  to  mention  barn-door  cocks  or  mal- 
lards, creatures  with  which  I  could  almost  exchange  lives  at 
any  time.  If  you  continue  so  deaf,  I  am  afraid  a  visit  will  be 
no  great  pleasure  to  either  of  us ;  but  if  I  hear  you  are  got  so 
well  again  as  to  be  able  to  relish  conversation,  look  you  to  it, 
madam,  for  I  will  make  my  threatenings  good.  I  am  to  be 
at  the  New-year-day  fair  of  Ayr,  and  by  all  that  is  sacred 
in  the  world,  friend  !  I  will  come  and  see  you.  .  .  . 

Your  meeting,  which  you  so  well  describe,  with  your  old 
school- fellow  and  friend  was  truly  interesting.  Out  upon 
the  ways  of  the  world  !     They  spoil  the  "  social  offsprings 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      185 


of  the  heart."  Two  veterans  of  the  "men  of  the  world  " 
would  have  met  with  little  more  heart-workings  than  two 
old  hacks  worn  out  on  the  road.  Apropos,  is  not  the 
Scotch  phrase  "Auld  lang  syne"  exceedingly  expressive? 
There  is  an  old  song  and  tune  which  has  often  thrilled 
through  my  soul.  You  know  I  am  an  enthusiast  in  old 
Scotch  songs.  I  shall  give  you  the  verses  on  the  other 
sheet,  as  I  suppose  Mr.  Kerr  will  save  you  the  postage. 


AULD   LANG   SYNE.i 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  thought  upon  ? 
Let 's  hae  a  waught  o'  Malaga, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

Chorus. 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  jo, 

For  auld  lang  syne ; 
Let 's  hae  a  waught  o'  Malaga, 

For  auld  lang  sye.  [sic] 

And  surely  ye  '11  be  your  pint-stoup  ! 

And  surely  I  '11  be  mine ! 
And  we  '11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes, 

And  pou't  the  gowans  fine ; 
But  we  've  wander'd  mony  a  weary  foot 

Sin  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

We  twa  hae  paidl't  i'  the  bum 

Frae  morning  sun  till  dine ; 
But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roar'd, 

Sin  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

And  there  's  a  han'  my  trusty  fiere, 

And  gie  's  a  han'  o'  thine ; 
And  we  '11  tak  a  right  guidewilly  waught. 

For  auld  lang  syne. 


old 

draught 
days  of  long  ago. 


tankard 


pulled 


waded 

dinner-time 

broad 


friend 
hand 

draught  with 
goodwill 


1 86  Correspondence  between 

Light  be  the  turf  on  the  breast  of  the  Heaven-inspired 
poet  who  composed  this  glorious  fragment !  There  is  more 
of  the  fire  of  native  genius  in  it  than  in  half  a  dozen  of  mod- 
ern English  Bacchanalians.  Now  I  am  on  my  hobby-horse, 
I  cannot  help  inserting  two  other  old  stanzas  which  please 
me  mightily. 

MY   BONIE   MARYi 

Go,  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 

And  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie,  cup 

That  I  may  drink,  before  I  go, 

A  service  to  my  bonie  lassie  : 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  Pier  o'  Leith, 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  frae  the  Ferry, 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-Law, 

And  I  maun  leave  my  bonie  Mary. 

The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly. 

The  glittering  spears  are  ranked  ready. 
The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar, 

The  battle  closes  deep  and  bloody : 
It 's  not  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 

Wad  make  me  langer  wish  to  tarry ; 
Nor  shouts  o'  war  that 's  heard  afar  — 

It 's  leaving  thee,  my  bonie  Mary ! 

RoBT.  Burns. 

(i)  Burns  deliberately  misled  Mrs.  Dunlop  about 
the  authorship  of  both  "  Auld  Lang  Syne  "  and  "  My 
Bonie  Mary,"  just  as  he  told  Thomson  that  he  re- 
covered the  former  from  an  old  man's  singing. 
"  Auld  Lang  Syne  "  was  indeed  modelled  on  one  or 
other  of  two  older  songs  —  one,  called  "  Old  long- 
syne,"  attributed  to  both  Sir  Robert  Aytoun  and 
Francis  Sempill,  the  other  called  "  Auld  Lang  Syne," 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      187 

by  Allan  Ramsay.  Yet  the  whole  is,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  Burns's  own,  and  the  finest  stanzas, 
the  third  and  fourth,  are  entirely  original.  So  with 
regard  to  "  My  Bonie  Mary,"  Burns  writes  in  his 
notes  in  the  Mtiseitm  that  only  the  first  four  lines 
were  old,  the  rest  was  his  own.  These  four  lines  he 
probably  took  from  a  homely  ballad  stated  by  Buchan 
to  have  been  composed  in  1636  by  Alexander  Leslie 
of  Edinburgh,  grandfather  of  Archbishop  Sharp. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

Ellisland,  Dumfries.        Dunlop,  24^5  Decbr.  1788. 

[Franked  by  Kerr:   Edinr.,  Twenty-ninth  Deer.  1788.] 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  am  quite  in  haste  to  tell  you,  as  I  sincerely 
think  you  will  have  pleasure  in  that  intelligence,  which  to 
most  part  of  the  world  may  be  very  insignificant,  that  I 
am  once  more  returned  to  Ayrshire,  and,  what  is  yet  more, 
to  my  hearing.  As  to  sight,  the  spectacles  do  so  well  now 
that  I  almost  forget  I  have  lost  it.  Yet,  great  is  the  loss, 
since  it  makes  one  less  able  to  read  the  soul  in  the  face  of 
our  friends.  But  at  threescore  one  is  seldom  put  to  any 
trouble  in  that  way;  so  they  may  the  more  readily  and 
quietly  acquiesce  in  those  faults  of  the  eyes  which  only  pre- 
clude an  examination  of  nonentities,  tho',  thank  God  !  I 
have  some  good  friends  whose  characteristic  features  are 
by  nature  too  strongly  marked  for  me  ever,  I  hope,  to 
mistake  them,  and  in  whom  I  always  find  out  all  and  even 
more  than  I  could  ever  have  looked  for  when  my  percep- 
tions were  at  the  best.  It  is  now  ten  days  I  have  been 
here  —  one  half  of  which  I  have  passed  in  bed  without 
ever  having  it  made.  Yet  this  I  reckon  well  spent,  not, 
as  the  country  folks  say,   because  we  get  a  sight  of  our 


1 88  Correspondence  between 

sins  in  that  situation,  but  that  I  found  this  confinement 
tended  to  remove  the  temporary  punishment  of  mine  by 
removing  the  deafness  which  is  at  present  perfectly  gone, 
and  I  cannot  express  the  pleasure  I  feel  in  being  able  to 
share  the  trifles  which  commonly  circulate  around  us,  and 
which  reason  pretends  to  despise,  but  without  which  all  her 
boasted  treasures  leave  us  wretched.  You  say  somewhere 
"  Man  is  not  a  happy  creature,"  and  a  few  days  ago  I 
would  have  re-echoed  "nor  woman  neither;"  but  as  I  am 
one,  I  frequently  change  my  mind,  and  when  I  received 
your  great  packet,  found  I  thought  differently  from  what 
I  had  just  been  doing  the  moment  before.  How  kind  it 
was  to  make  it  so  large,  when  others  would  never  have 
thought  of  bestowing  a  single  line  on  the  poor  miserable 
who  could  not  see  to  read  it.  Well,  I  believe  the  very 
weight  of  it  sunk  my  sorrows  before  I  got  at  the  inside. 
You  know  't  is  a  poetic  maxim  of  mine  "  Kindness  can  o'er 
the  elements  prevail,"  and  I  assure  you  it  has  at  least  in  my 
constitution  a  wonderful  power  over  every  distress  and 
disorder,  both  of  body  and  mind.  Were  death  himself  to 
attack  me,  I  should  draw  much  supporting  courage  from 
the  consideration  that  my  obsequies  would  be  engraven 
on  the  heart  of  a  poet  who,  I  flatter  myself,  would  be  too 
much  concerned  to  write  my  epitaph,  and  might  travesty 
Pope,  and,  striking  his  pensive  bosom,  say  "  Here  is  not 
Gay,"  and  say  so  without  falsehood  or  affectation ;  for  I 
deceive  myself  most  egregiously  if  you  would  not  be 
melancholy  for  at  least  two  hours  after  the  first  intimation 
of  my  demise.  I  even  glory  in  the  thought,  and  would 
not  exchange  it  to  make  any  human  creature,  even  myself, 
happy  for  double  the  time.  Is  not  this  a  noble  swatch 
[sample]  of  female  generosity  that  can  so  sincerely  rejoice 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      189 

in  the  distress  of  another ;  yet,  take  my  word  on  it,  what- 
ever others  may  pretend,  we  are  all  alike  in  these  things, 
and  our  greatest  fear  ever  is  that  our  friends  will  be  too 
soon  comforted,  not  that  they  will  grieve  too  tenderly. 
However,  spite  of  all  your  pains  to  prepare  me,  I  don't 
expect  to  creep  into  my  last  sleep  this  year  yet,  nor  am  I 
really  shaken  with  illness,  as  my  female  weak  way  of  com- 
plaining has  led  you  to  believe.  On  the  contrary,  I  have 
spent  this  summer  and  harvest  upon  the  whole  in  more 
health  and  chearful  ease  than  I  had  known  for  several 
years  past,  and  spite  of  a  few  sharp  rubs  of  sickness  now 
and  then,  have  been  far  better  in  general  than  I  had  for  a 
long  while  ever  looked  for  a  possibility  of  being  in  this 
wafe  [solitary],  deserted  world ;  for,  spite  of  myself,  I  still 
find  it  so  whenever  I  begin  to  be  sick  or  serious,  unless  the 
Muse,  the  Bard,  or  the  friend  step  kindly  forward  to  my 
relief.  To  these  I  have  of  late  been  greatly  indebted. 
The  first  withdraws  as  our  society  here  grows  more  nu- 
merous ;  the  last  cruel  fortune  has  dragged  to  a  woful  dis- 
tance, and  I  ought  not  to  struggle  against  her,  but  welcome 
what  I  cannot  shun  as  chearfully  as  I  can,  nor  even  look 
fonvard  to  Ayr  Fair  with  those  expectations  which  the 
beginning  of  your  last  gave  birth  to,  and  the  end  bid 
vanish  into  disappointment.  And  did  you  really  read  my 
lines  half  a  dozen  times  over?  And  why  don't  you  tell 
me  their  faults?  Or  are  they  still  not  worth  a  criticism 
from  your  hand?  I  have  a  family  of  very  unfortunate 
friends  indeed,  to  whom  fate  seems  to  deny  everything, 
and  to  whom  I  am  therefore  able  to  deny  nothing,  not 
even  my  rhymes.  To  them  I  have  even  left  some  written 
copies  of  one  or  two  pieces,  among  which  is  this  last. 
So,    should    you   adopt    anything   of  mine,    you    may    be 


190  Correspondence  between 

already  detected.  But  I  have  a  better  opinion  of  your 
taste  than  to  imagine  you  run  the  least  risque  of  making 
so  foolish  a  sacrifice  of  your  own  professional  fame.  In- 
deed you  have  many  of  mine  that  never  saw  the  light  but 
to  yourself,  and  your  letting  it  in  upon  them  would  strike 
deeper  against  you  in  my  mind  than  as  a  poet.  I  there- 
fore look  upon  it  as  an  impossibility  from  the  friend  I  so 
highly  regard.  I  like  your  first  "Hermitage"^  best; 
indeed  I  like  it  very  much.  The  second  is  too  gloomy, 
and  the  change  indicates  a  fickleness  I  don't  wish  to  meet. 
In  short  I  am  vext  to  see  my  favourite  discarded  for  any 
rival  whatever,  and  feel  for  it  as  if  it  were  myself  rejected 
for  some  newer  acquaintance.  You  see  how  much  I  love 
auld-lang-syne,  and  what  I  think  due  to  it.  I  have  found 
out  a  rustic  poetess  ^  whose  ambition  aspires  to  be  a 
chambermaid  or  bairn's-woman  [nurse],  but  if  you  are  at 
the  fair  you  shall  know  all  I  know  about  her,  and  see  some 
of  her  works ;  not  that  I  admire  them  except  for  being 
hers.  Besides,  she  writes  blank  verse,  which  I  don't  like. 
Did  you  ever  see  an  Ode  wrot  by  an  officer  beginning 
"  Go,  little  boy,  to  yonder  tower"?  I  would  wish  to  hear 
your  opinion  of  it,  that  I  may  see  how  far  it  agrees  with  or 
differs  from  mine.  You  did  right  to  send  your  last  by  a 
private  hand,  for  indeed  't  is  a  mistake  that  my  friend 
Kerr  would  save  me  postage.  I  assure  you  that  is  a  dis- 
tinction he  reserves  for  the  Scots  Bard  alone,  "who  (as 
he  told  me)  was  the  only  instance  ought  to  claim  an  ex- 
emption from  the  obligations  of  his  duty ;  that  to  favour 
him  could  never  be  defrauding  the  publick,  who  were  all 
his  debtors,"  ^  since  which  I  have  given  him  the  trouble 
of  all  I  wrot  you.  For  those  you  write  me  I  pay  them  with 
great  pleasure  when  I  cannot  get  them  without  it.     Only, 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      191 


don't  forget  the  word  single,  the  omission  of  which  some- 
times cost  fivepence.  I  wish  to  God  you  instead  of  G.  R. 
had  as  much  for  every  word  you  could  write.  Miss  M'Kay 
is  gone.  Lady  Wallace,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henri,  and  my 
former  family  [are]  to  pass  the  winter  and  spring  here  ;  so 
that  we  are  too  many  people  to  have  much  society,  at 
least  of  the  kind  I  reUsh  most,  but  which  I  very  seldom 
find ;  for,  like  all  delicate  pleasures,  it  is  too  easily  broken 
in  upon,  and  at  my  time  of  life  a  small  house  and  a  small 
company  seem  most  consonant  to  the  indolent  dispositions 
of  the  mind.  Even  my  own  colony  are  oft  too  large  for 
my  shrunk-up  soul,  whose  comprehensive  faculties  could 
be  all  satisfied  at  Morham,  but  are  sometimes  surfeited  in 
this  crowded  circle.  But  this  is  a  language  no  man  can 
understand  under  thirty,  and  you  must  tire  of  it  as  I  do 
of  hearing  French,  which  my  ear  cannot  interpret  a  single 
word  of;  unless  your  ideas  may  perhaps  be  as  premature 
as  they  are  superlative  and  spontaneous.     Adieu. 

My  having  left  no  room  for  a  subscription  on  the  other 
side  is  proof  positive  of  that  esteem  and  regard  with  which 
I  am  your  obliged  friend  and  humble  servant, 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Burns  must  have  sent  Mrs.  Dunlop  a  MS. 
of  the  second  version  of  the  lines  "  Written  in  Friars' 
Carse  Hermitage."  He  transcribed  the  first  for  her 
in  his  letter  of  the  2nd  August. 

(2)  Janet  Little  (1759-1813),  a  poetess,  known  as 
"  the  Scottish  Milkmaid."  She  entered  the  service 
of  Mrs.  Henri  as  a  dairy-maid  at  Loudoun  Castle, 
and  published  a  volume  of  poems  in  1792.  She  mar- 
ried John  Richmond,  a  labourer,  at  Loudoun  Castle. 


192  Correspondence  between 

(3)  Kerr  bore  a  reputation  for  much  greater 
laxity  in  the  matter  of  franking  his  friends'  com- 
munications. 

Ad.  Mrs.  DuNLOP  of  Dunlop, 
Dunlop  House. 

Ellisland,  Nezv-year-day  Morning  1789. 

This,  Dear  Madam,  is  a  morning  of  wishes ;  and  would 
to  God  that  I  came  under  the  Apostle  James's  description : 
—  "  The  effectual,  fervent  Prayer  of  a  righteous  ma?i  avail- 
eth  much."  In  that  case,  Madam,  you  would  welcome  in 
a  year  full  of  blessings  :  everything  that  obstructs  or  disturbs 
tranquillity  and  self-enjoyment  should  be  removed,  and 
every  pleasure  that  frail  humanity  can  taste  should  be  yours. 
I  own  myself  so  little  a  Presbyterian  that  I  approve  of  set 
times  and  seasons  of  more  than  ordinary  acts  of  devotion 
for  breaking  in  on  that  habituated  routine  of  life  and 
thought  which  is  so  apt  to  reduce  our  existence  to  a  kind 
of  instinct,  or  even  sometimes,  and  with  some  minds,  to  a 
state  very  little  superior  to  mere  machinery.  This  day ; 
the  first  Sunday  of  May  —  a  breezy,  blue-skyed  noon  some- 
time about  the  beginning,  and  a  hoary  morning  and  calm 
sunny  day  about  the  end  of  Autumn  ;  these,  time  out  of 
mind,  have  been  with  me  a  kind  of  holidays.  Not  like 
the  Sacramental,  executioner-face  of  a  Kilmarnock  Com- 
munion ;  but  to  laugh  or  cry,  be  cheerful  or  pensive,  moral 
or  devout,  according  to  the  mood  and  tense  of  the  season 
and  myself  I  believe  I  owe  this  to  that  glorious  paper 
in  the  Spectator,  "  The  Vision  of  Mirza,"  a  piece  that 
struck  my  young  fancy  before  I  was  capable  of  fixing 
an  idea  to  a  word  of  three  syllables.  "On  the  fifth  day 
of  the  moon  which,  according  to  the  custom  of  my  fore- 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      193 


fathers,  I  always  keep  holy,  after  having  washed  myself, 
and  offered  up  my  morning  devotions,  I  ascended  the  high 
hill  of  Bagdat,  in  order  to  pass  the  rest  of  the  day  in 
meditation  and  prayer,"  etc. 

We  know  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  of  the  substance 
or  structure  of  our  souls,  so  cannot  account  for  those  seem- 
ing caprices  in  them,  that  one  shall  be  particularly  pleased 
with  this  thing,  or  struck  with  that,  which,  on  minds  of  a 
different  cast,  makes  no  extraordinary  impression.  I  have 
some  favorite  flowers  in  Spring,  among  which  are  the  moun- 
tain daisy,  the  hare-bell,  the  fox-glove,  the  wild  brier-rose, 
the  budding  birk  and  the  hoary  hawthorn,  that  I  view  and 
hang  over  with  particular  delight.  I  never  hear  the  loud, 
solitary  whistle  of  the  curlew  in  a  summer  noon,  or  the  wild, 
mixing  cadence  of  a  troop  of  grey  plover  in  an  autumnal 
morning,  without  feeling  an  elevation  of  soul  like  the  enthu- 
siasm of  devotion  or  poesy.  Tell  me,  my  dear  friend,  to 
what  can  this  be  owing  ?  Are  we  a  piece  of  machinery  that, 
like  the  Eolian  harp,  passive,  takes  the  impression  of  the 
passing  accident?  Or  do  these  workings  argue  something 
within  us  above  the  trodden  clod  ?  I  own  myself  partial  to 
these  proofs  of  those  awful  and  important  realities,  a  God 
that  made  all  things,  man's  immaterial  and  immortal  nature, 
and  a  world  of  weal  or  woe  beyond  death  and  the  grave, 
these  proofs  that  we  deduct  by  dint  of  our  own  powers  and 
observation.  However  respectable  individuals  in  all  ages 
have  been,  I  have  ever  looked  on  mankind  in  the  lump  to 
be  nothing  better  than  a  foolish,  headstrong,  credulous, 
unthinking  mob ;  and  their  universal  belief  has  ever  had 
extremely  little  weight  with  me.  Still  I  am  a  very  sincere 
believer  in  the  Bible ;  but  I  am  drawn  by  the  conviction  of 
a  man,  not  the  halter  of  an  ass. 
VOL.  I. — 13 


194  Correspondence  between 

Apropos  to  an  ass,  how  do  you  like  the  following  Apos- 
trophe to  Dulness,  which  I  intend  to  interweave  in  "The 
Poet's  Progress  "  ?  ^  — 

O  Dulness,  portion  of  the  truly  blest ! 
Calm,  shelter'd  haven  of  eternal  rest ! 
Thy  sons  ne'er  madden  in  th^  fierce  extremes 
Of  Fortune's  polar  frost  or  torrid  beams. 
If  mantling  high  she  fills  the  golden  cup, 
With  sober,  selfish  ease  they  sip  it  up ; 
Conscious  their  great  success  they  well  deserve, 
They  only  wonder  some  folks  do  not  starve  : 
The  sage,  grave  hern  thus,  easy,  picks  his  frog, 
And  thinks  the  mallard  a  sad,  worthless  dog. 
When  Disappointment  snaps  the  thread  of  hope  ; 
When,  through  disastrous  night,  they  darkling  grope  ; 
With  deaf  endurance  sluggishly  they  bear. 
And  just  conclude  that  "  Fools  are  Fortune's  care." 
So,  heavy,  passive  to  the  tempest's  shocks, 
Strong  on  the  sign-post  stands  the  stupid  ox. 
Not  so  the  idle  Muses'  madcap  train. 
Not  such  the  workings  of  their  moon-struck  brain  : 
In  equanimity  they  never  dwell. 
By  turns  in  soaring  Heaven  or  vaulted  Hell. 

I  have  sketched  two  or  three  verses  to  you,  but  as  a  private 
opportunity  offers  immediately,  I  must  defer  transcribing 
them.  A  servant  of  mine  goes  to  Ayrshire  with  this,  but  I 
shall  write  you  by  post.  If  I  am  to  be  so  happy  as  have  it 
in  my  power  to  see  you  when  I  go  to  Ayr-fair,  which  I  very 
much  doubt,  I  will  try  to  dine  at  Dunlop  in  the  Wednesday 
of  that  week. 

If  it  is  good  weather  in  the  fair-week,  I  shall  try  my  ut- 
most ;  for  if  I  hit  my  aim  aright,  it  will  not  be  in  my  power 
in  any  given  time  again.  —  Farewell !  Robt.  Burns. 

(i)  See  antea,  p.  159. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      195 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns, 
Ellisland,  near  Dumfries. 

1st  Jan.  1789. 

Dr.  Sm,  —  This  is  the  first  day  of  a  New  Year.  Let  me 
begin  it  by  wishing  everything  good  to  him  whose  genius, 
but  yet  more  whose  kind  attentions,  has  conferred  unnum- 
bered obUgations  and  pleasures  on  the  last ;  whose  corre- 
spondence has  been  to  me  a  varied  scene  of  hope  and 
delight,  and  an  intercourse  of  that  mixture  between  amuse- 
ment and  esteem  to  which  I  believed  I  was  become  wholly 
superannuated.  May  the  coming  months  arrive  to  you  full 
fraught  with  all  your  wishes,  and  those  wishes  be  what  man- 
kind's seldom  are,  directed  to  what  can  make  your  hap- 
piness most  truly  permanent.  Your  powers,  my  good 
friend,  are  suited,  like  the  genial  rays  of  the  sun,  to  all 
climes  and  seasons ;  they  possess  a  varied  temperament  for 
every  soil,  and  I  find  your  letters  equally  soothe  a  mel- 
ancholy, rejoice  a  merry,  or  awaken  a  languid  hour ;  while 
they  please  and  oblige  me  alike  at  every  moment,  and  in 
every  mood.  As  for  myself,  in  perfect  health,  restored  to 
my  hearing,  surrounded  by  the  numerous  family  about  me, 
easie  and  seemingly  pleased,  beheving  those  at  a  distance 
from  me  have  likewise  room  to  be  so  too  ;  what  have  I 
more  to  ask  at  this  calm  evening  twilight  of  my  life  but 
grateful  sensibility  to  taste  and  acknowledge  so  many  bless- 
ings? Yet  still  I  own  I  look  forward  with  anxious  impa- 
tience to  the  time  of  Ayr-fair,  and  often  ask  myself  the 
question  if  you  will  be  there  ?  How  gladly  would  I  pay 
double  postage  for  a  letter,  even  tho'  the  word  single  should 
not  be  on  the  back  of  it,  that  put  it  in  my  power  to  be  no 
longer  sceptic  on  so  interesting  an  article  of  futurity.  Were 
some  fairy  or  genie  to  afford  me  three  wishes,  I  verily 
believe  just  now  the  first  I  should  form  would  -be  that  this 


I  q6  Correspondence  between 


were  the  Fair-day,  the  second,  that  you  came  to  it,  and  the 
third,  that  you  left  it  for  your  friends  here ;  for,  beUeve  me, 
though  I  am  perfectly  sensible  I  ought  not  to  wish  or  ap- 
prove of  your  coming  from  Dumfries  to  see  us,  I  shall  be 
extremely  proud  you  can  ever  once  imagine  the  visit  worth 
the  trouble  of  your  making  it  from  Ayr.  I  therefore  have 
resolved  to  tell  you  so,  though  you  must  pay  dear  for  the 
intelligence,  as  my  friend  Kerr  is,  I  believe,  gone  to  Lon- 
don, and  I  could  not  resolve  to  run  the  risque  of  missing 
the  pleasure  you  had  in  speculation  for  me  by  delaying  to 
say  I  would  count  the  days  betwixt  in  hope  of  its  accom- 
phshment.  Besides,  though  this  is  a  sort  of  will-o'-the-wisp 
idea,  I  cannot  help  at  same  time  suggesting  that  I  don't 
think  it  is  more  than  twenty  miles  further  if  you  go  to 
Haddington,  as  you  told  me  you  must  do,  to  come  this 
road ;  and  twenty  miles  is  not  a  great  deal  out  of  a  poet's 
way  to  see  any  friends  whom  his  fancy  represents  in  so  fair 
a  garb  as  to  deserve  his  notice  in  despite  of  both  time  and 
space,  those  fatal  destroyers  of  all  worldly  joys,  I  have 
read  your  22nd  of  Novbr.^  Why  do  you  tell  me  'tis  dis- 
simulation? 'tis  the  emanations  of  a  heavenly  spirit,  the 
soundest  judgment  and  the  most  benevolent  soul.  I  have 
long  suspected  no  man  was  free  from  fraudful  affectation, 
but  I  must  do  you  the  justice  to  say  that  you  are  almost  the 
only  one  creature  I  have  ever  seen  have  the  good  sense  to 
affect  something  that  could  render  them  the  more  estimable 
by  being  real.  Most  of  us  leave  nature  only  to  assume 
something  worse  in  her  stead.  You  have  certainly  only 
put  on  her  fairest  clothing,  and  it  sits  so  becomingly  that 
I  'm  sure  I  should  never  have  guessed  it  was  not  your  own 
property.  Shall  I  for  the  future,  when  I  admire  your 
sentiments,  surmise  to  myself  that  the  writer  may  be  but  a 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      197 

wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  or  believe  you  in  earnest  wherever 
I  would  wish  my  friend  to  be  so?  Indeed,  this  is  so  much 
my  native  bias  that  I  need  hardly  take  advice  on  the  sub- 
ject, as  I  much  doubt  if  it  is  in  my  power  to  run  counter, 
even  were  I  to  hear  an  assertion  from  the  mouth  of  truth 
herself,  as  you  say,  for  I  can  hardly  take  your  own  word 
that  you  are  not  expressing  exactly  what  you  think  in  that 
paper  where  your  principles  appear  to  me  as  undisguised  as 
your  expression ;  your  very  wishes  wear  but  a  gauze  veil, 
which  needs  not  the  lynx's  eye  of  friendship  to  see  through 
it.  I  wrot  you  some  days  ago  by  Edr.,  but  apprehend  you 
may  not  get  my  letter  should  Kerr  be  gone  before  its  arrival 
there.  I  shall  therefore  send  this  the  other  road,  and  if 
you  won't  be  ill  pleased  with  me  for  enlarging  its  size,  will 
enclose  an  elegy  on  the  death  of  the  poor  man  whose 
tragedy  I  formerly  told  you  I  was  so  well  pleased  with. 
His  worth  of  character,  his  retired  modesty  of  mind,  both 
as  a  man  and  an  author,  the  melancholy  distress  of  his 
wife,  children,  niece,  nephew,  and  servants,  as  well  as  the 
strangers  hired  to  them  at  the  time  of  his  exit,  added  to  the 
eagerness  I  felt  to  see  him,  and  my  disappointment  in  hear- 
ing the  dismal  story,  unhinged  my  mind,  and  I  daresay  you 
will  not  find  any  justice  done  the  subject ;  but  I  put  it  in 
better  hands  by  informing  you  of  the  circumstances,  so 
shall  end  by  assuring  you  nothing  will  give  me  more 
pleasure  than  your  verbal  critic  on  this  and  all  you  have 
seen  from  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  MYLNE,  AUTHOR  OF 
"DARTHULA," 

ADDREST  TO   KOBT.   BURNS 

Let  all  the  tears  of  all  the  Muses  flow, 
And  yours  and  mine  redouble  all  their  woe ! 


198  Correspondence  between 


Yet  Grief  prepares  her  sharpest  shaft  for  you, 
A  brother  farmer,  and  a  poet  too. 


I  give  you  below  a  cherard  [charade]  as  a  specimene  of 
elegant  entertainment  in  high  life,  which  I  cannot  even 
write  or  spell  the  name  of :  — 

My  first  is  an  engine,  my  second  a  stone, 

My  third  is  combin'd,  not  beauty  alone, 

But  what  must  still  please  man,  woman,  and  child, 

The  figure  so  lovely,  the  manner  so  mild. 

The  word  —  Cranstone. 

(i)  A  missing  letter,  perhaps  that  in  which  the 
poet  transcribed  the  second  version  of  the  lines 
"  Written  in  Friars'  Carse  Hermitage." 

We  append  here  the  New  Year's  Day  Address  to 
Mrs.  Dimlop,  which  has  hitherto,  in  accordance  with 
Currie's  date,  been  assigned  to  the  beginning  of  1790. 
In  the  Cente7iary  edition,  on  the  strength  of  Mrs. 
Dunlop's  acknowledgment,  on  ist  January  1791,  of  a 
letter,  a  poem,  and  a  gilded  card  from  Burns,  it  is 
maintained  that  1791  is  the  correct  date.  The  most 
casual  reading  of  the  Lochryan  MSS.  ought  to  have 
shown  that  the  true  date  was  1789.  On  the  ist 
January  of  that  year  Burns  wrote  to  Mrs.  Dunlop: 
"  I  have  sketched  two  or  three  verses  to  you,  but  as  a 
private  opportunity  ofifers  immediately,  I  must  defer 
transcribing  them."  On  the  22nd  Mrs.  Dunlop 
acknowledged  an  address  which  "  proclaims  my  age 
and  infirmities  by  pointing  out  that  deafness  which, 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      199 

thank  Heaven !  is  at  present  gone."  Compare  the 
line  in  the  poem  — 

Deaf  as  my  friend,  he  sees  them  press. 

It  is  almost  superfluous  to  point  out  the  other  inter- 
nal evidence  of  its  date  that  the  poem  contains.  But, 
as  much  has  been  made  of  the  reference  to  a  grand- 
child's cap  that  Mrs.  Dunlop  was  making,  it  may  be 
noted  that  the  perpetuity  of  that  occupation  with  her 
was  a  subject  of  jest  with  Mrs.  Dunlop,  and  that, 
moreover,  she  had  been  congratulated  by  Burns  on 
the  birth  of  a  grandchild  at  the  end  of  October  1788. 
Finally,  it  was  in  1788  that  Rachel  Dunlop  painted 
her  sketch  of  Coila,  as  the  correspondence  proves, 
and  while  it  is  probable  that  Burns  conceived  her  as 
still  touching  it  at  the  beginning  of  1789,  it  is  scarcely 
possible  that  he  would  refer  to  the  incident  in  1791, 
or  1790  either.  An  allusion  in  Mrs.  Dunlop's  letter 
of  6th  April  1790  may  be  noted,  and  it  is  all  but  cer- 
tain that  the  poem  which  Mrs.  Dunlop  acknowledged 
on  31st  December  1790  (not  ist  January  1791)  was 
"  Tarn  o'  Shanter." 


SKETCH  — NEW  YEAR'S  DAY. 

TO   MRS.   DUNLOP. 

This  day,  Time  winds  th'  exhausted  chain, 
To  run  the  twelvemonths'  length  again : 
I  see  the  old,  bald-pated  fellow, 
With  ardent  eyes,  complexion  sallow, 
Adjust  the  unimpair'd  machine, 
To  wheel  the  equal,  dull  routine. 


200  Correspondence  between 

The  absent  lover,  minor  heir, 
In  vain  assail  him  with  their  prayer ; 
Deaf  as  my  friend,  he  sees  them  press, 
Nor  makes  the  hour  one  moment  less. 
Will  you  (the  Major's  with  the  hounds; 
The  happy  tenants  share  his  rounds  ; 
Coila  's  fair  Rachel's  care  to-day, 
And  blooming  Keith  's  engaged  with  Gray) 
From  housewife  cares  a  minute  borrow  — 
That  grandchild's  cap  will  do  to-morrow  — 
And  join  with  me  a-moralizing  — 
This  day  's  propitious  to  be  wise  in. 
First,  what  did  yesternight  deliver  ? 
"  Another  year  is  gone  for  ever." 
And  what  is  this  day's  strong  suggestion? 
"  The  passing  moment  's  all  we  rest  on  1 " 
Rest  on  —  for  what  ?  what  do  we  here  ? 
Or  why  regard  the  passing  year  ? 
Will  Time,  amus'd  with  proverb'd  lore, 
Add  to  our  date  one  minute  more  ? 
A  few  days  may  —  a  few  years  must  — 
Repose  us  in  the  silent  dust. 
Then,  is  it  wise  to  damp  our  bliss  .^ 
Yes  —  all  such  reasonings  are  amiss ! 
The  voice  of  Nature  loudly  cries, 
And  many  a  message  from  the  skies. 
That  something  in  us  never  dies : 
That  on  this  frail,  uncertain  state. 
Hang  matters  of  eternal  weight : 
That  future  life  in  worlds  unknown 
Must  take  its  hue  from  this  alone  ; 
Whether  as  heavenly  glory  bright. 
Or  dark  as  Misery's  woeful  night. 

Since,  then,  my  honor'd  first  of  friends. 
On  this  poor  being  all  depends, 
Let  us  th'  important  ncnv  employ. 
And  live  as  those  who  never  die. 
Tho'  you,  with  days  and  honors  crown'd, 
Witness  that  filial  circle  round 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      201 

(A  sight  life's  sorrows  to  repulse, 
A  sight  pale  Envy  to  convulse), 
Others  now  claim  your  chief  regard ; 
Yourself,  you  wait  your  bright  reward. 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 
Stewarton. 

MosSGiEL,  Wedensday  Morning. 
\^Jan.  1789.] 

No  ill-weather  in  Hay  or  Harvest  ever  gave  me  so  cha- 
grining a  disappointment.  This  morning  I  had  set  apart 
for  a  visit  to  my  honored  Friend  —  you  cannot  imagine, 
Madam,  what  happiness  I  had  promised  myself;  when  be- 
hold, "the  snows  descended,  and  the  winds  blew,"  and 
made  my  journey  impracticable.  As  it  will  be  impossible 
for  me  to  wait  a  journeyable  day,  I  send  you  this  to  apol- 
ogise for  my  seeming  neglect,  and  to  acknowledge  the 
receipt  of  two  ^  kind  Epistles  from  you,  since  I  wrote  you 
on  New  Year's  Day.  I  had  got  a  hundred  and  fifty  things 
to  say  to  you,  which  a  hundred  and  fifty  sheets  of  paper 
would  not  record ;  but  I  shall  be  in  Ayrshire  in  the  Spring, 
and  you  know  with  what  rapture  two  Poetic  folks  will  meet, 
amid  opening  daisies,  budding  hawthorns,  and  fragrant 
birks.  Now  I  talk  of  Poetic,  you  must  know,  as  I  came  to 
Sanquhar  on  Saturday  evening  —  the  landlord  and  landlady 
are  my  particular  acquaintances  —  I  had  just  dispatched 
my  dinner,  and  was  sitting  in  a  family  way  over  a  friendly 
bowl,  glad  that  my  weary  body  and  soul  had  found  out 
so  comfortable  a  place  of  rest  —  when  lo  !  the  quondam 
Mrs.  Oswald  ^  wheeled  into  the  courtyard  with  an  immense 
retinue,  and  the  poor  Bard  is  oblidged,  amid  the  shades  of 
night,  bitter  frost,  howling  hills  and  icy  cataracts,  to  goad 
his  jaded  steed  twelve   miles  farther  on  to  another  stage. 


202  Correspondence  between 

O  for  a  muse,  not  of  heroic  fire  but  satiric  aquafortis,  to 
gnaw  the  iron  pride  of  unfeehng  greatness  !  Before  I 
reached  the  other  stage,  I  composed  the  following,  and 
sent  it  off  at  the  first  Post-ofiice  for  the  Coiirant:  — 


ODE,   SACRED   TO   THE   MEMORY   OF   MRS.  O- 

OF   A 3 

Dweller  in  yon  dungeon  dark, 
Hangman  of  creation,  mark, 
Who  in  widow-weeds  appears, 
Laden  with  unhonored  years  ? 
Noosing  with  care  a  bursting  purse, 
Baited  with  many  a  deadly  curse  ? 

STROPHE 

View  the  wither'd  Beldam's  face  ; 

Can  thy  keen  inspection  trace 

Aught  of  Humanity's  sweet,  melting  grace  ? 

Note  that  eye  —  't  is  rheum  o'erflows, 

Pity's  flood  there  never  rose  : 

See  these  hands,  ne'er  stretch'd  to  save, 

Hands  that  took  —  but  never  gave. 

The  Great  despis'd  her  and  her  wealth  ; 

The  poor-man  breath'd  a  curse  by  stealth. 

Keeper  of  Mammon's  iron  chest, 

Lo !  there  she  goes,  unpitied  and  unblest, 

She  goes,  but  not  to  realms  of  everlasting  rest  I 

ANTISTROPHE 

Plunderer  of  armies,  lift  thine  eyes 

(A  while  forbear,  ye  torturing  fiends) ; 

Seest  thou  whose  steps,  unwilling,  hither  bends  .■* 

No  fallen  angel  kick'd  from  upper  skies  ; 

'T  is  thy  trusty  quondam  mate, 

Doom'd  to  share  thy  fiery  fate 
She,  tardy,  hell-ward  plies. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      203 

EPODE 

And  are  they  of  no  more  avail, 

Ten  thousand  glittering  pounds  a  year  ? 
In  other  worlds,  can  Mammon  fail, 

Omnipotent  as  he  is  here  ? 
O  bitter  mockery  of  the  pompous  bier. 

While  down  the  wretched  Vital-part  is  driven  ! 
The  cave-lodg'd  Beggar,  with  a  conscience  clear, 

Expires  in  rags,  unknown,  and  goes  to  Heaven. 

To  soften  the  matter  a  little,  I  altered  the  title  to  Mrs. 

A of  O .     I  was   afraid  they  should   suspect   me 

for  the  author. 

I  shall  be  impatient  to  hear  from  you.  Adieu  !  —  I  am 
ever,  Dr.  Madam,  your  oblidged  friend  and  humble  servant, 

RoBT,  Burns. 

(i)    Only  one  is  extant. 

(2)  Mary  Ramsay,  daughter  of  Alexander  Ram- 
say, a  Jamaica  merchant,  brought  large  estates  in 
America  and  the  West  Indies,  on  her  marriage,  to 
Richard  Oswald,  son  of  the  Rev.  George  Oswald, 
Dunnet,  Caithness.  Richard  Oswald  acquired  great 
wealth  as  a  London  merchant  and  as  an  army  con- 
tractor ("  plunderer  of  armies  ")  in  the  Seven  Years' 
War.  He  was  one  of  the  commissioners  who  arranged 
with  Franklin  and  his  colleagues  at  Paris  the  peace 
between  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States.  He 
purchased  Auchencruive  in  Ayrshire,  and  lived  there 
till  his  death  in  1784. 

(3)  The  Ode  did  not  appear  in  the  Con  rant  ; 
Burns  sent  a  copy  on  23rd  March  to  Dr.  Moore,  with 
an  explanation  of  its  origin  that  differs  only  verbally 
from  that  which  he  gave  Mrs.   Dunlop.     The   Ode 


204  Correspondence  between 

was  published  in  the  London  Star  of  7th  May  with- 
out the  couplet  in  the  first  strophe  — 

The  Great  despis'd  her  and  her  wealth ; 
The  poor  man  breath'd  a  curse  by  stealth. 

FRAGMENT 
To  Burns. 

\z2nd  January  1789.] 

—  in  consequence  of  this  horrid  snow  storm,  which,  how- 
ever, has  not  been  so  dreadful  as  your  imagination  or  the 
friends  who  were  unwilling  to  part  with  you  would  repre- 
sent it.  They  would  tell  you  it  must  be  impassable  here, 
whereas  on  the  other  side  the  question  I  must  inform  you 
my  son  went  a  visiting  on  Wednesday,  and  to-day  we  had 
strangers  from  a  distance  here.  I  felt  a  kind  of  chagrine 
in  seeing  them,  as  it  shewed  me  the  road  lay  open,  and 
that  you  might  have  come  from  Ayr  (if  you  were  there),  if 
I  had  not  convinced  you  that  I  did  not  wish  it,  or  if  you 
had  wished  it  very  earnestly  yourself  Now,  I  hardly  know 
which  of  these  alternatives  I  would  least  like  to  fix  upon  as 
the  cause  of  that  absence  I  so  much  regret.  It  is  quite 
tantalizing  to  think  that  you  have  been  five  times  at  Dun- 
lop  last  year,  and  I  have  never  once  seen  you,  who,  I  am 
sure,  would  have  set  more  value  on  the  visit  than  all  the 
rest  put  together.  But  thus  the  good  things  of  this  world 
are  frequently  shared  out,  and  we  ought,  spite  of  all,  to  be 
thankful  for  our  most  scanty  portion.  You  see  your  moral 
lessons  are  not  lost  upon  me.  Nay,  I  flatter  myself  you 
may  improve  by  writing  them,  as  well  as  I  by  reading. 
Meantime,  I  consider  myself  as  obliged  and  honoured  even 
by  an  address  which  proclaims  my  age  and  infirmities  by 
pointing    out    that  deafness  which,   thank   Heaven !    is  at 


( 

I 

Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      205 


present  gone.  If  it  must  return,  at  least  I  shall  hope  my 
friend  and  my  enemy  (the  only  one  I  know  of  having) 
shall  not  see  me  on  the  same  day.  You  say  you  will  polish 
the  New  Year's  Day  piece.  I  protest  against  every  altera- 
tion. Every  address  to  a  friend  or  from  a  friend  ought  to 
stand  in  the  first  chalk,  the  spontaneous  effusion  of  the  soul, 
uncorrected  by  any  secondary  consideration.  In  short,  I 
cannot  part  with  one  word  you  have  ever  meant  should  be 
mine.  Leave  it  to  the  Royal  button-maker  [George  III.] 
to  give  his  works  \kvt  fion  [Fr.  =  finishing  touch],  and  act 
like  your  true  master  nature,  who  puts  forth  all  his  in  pris- 
tine glory.  I  was  got  just  here  when  I  was  interrupted  to 
receive  yours  from  Fanny  Burns.^  Poor  thing  !  Her  cheek 
glowed  and  her  eyes  sparkled  as  she  told  me  she  has  one 
for  me  from  her  cousin. 

Your  oaten  reed  of  sweet  celestial  sound 

Makes  orphan-hearts  with  grateful  joy  rebound! 

To  gen'rous  love  one  tie  points  out  another, 
A  mother's  children,  or  a  father's  brother. 


I  have  just  been  reading  your  infusion  of  gall,  wormwood 
and  aquafortis.  I  had  been  half  cursing  your  mare  myself 
as  I  found  care  of  her  had  frighted  you  from  venturing  this 
length.  I  had  not,  however,  vented  much  ill-nature ;  only 
wished  poets  had  never  rode  in  coaches  and  lost  the  use  of 
their  legs,  or  stood  in  awe  of  spoiling  their  steed,  but 
strutted  still  afoot  like  old  Homer  or  Ossian;  when  I  was 
struck  with  remorse  at  finding  myself  so  distanced  in  the 
race  of  spleen.  Are  you  not  a  sad,  wicked  creature  to  send 
the  poor  old  wife  straight  to  the  devil  because  she  gave  you 
a  ride  in  a  cold  night?  I  am  sure  your  wrath  had  great 
need  of  a  cooler  too,  but  few  of  us  know  our  own  necessities. 


2o6  Correspondence  between 

Lord  help  us  !  But  what  is  worse  than  all,  that  it  spoils 
a  fair  thought  I  had  drest  out  for  the  door  of  a  moving 
library  I  have  in  a  box,  and  was  as  follows  — 

This  little  box  by  fortune  seems  design'd 

A  motley  emblem  of  the  owner's  mind  j 
There  folly  reigns  with  unrelenting  sway, 

Here  wit  lies  hid  from  wisdom's  scorching  ray. 
Here  Milton  and  Cervantes  have  their  parts, 

There  Blair  and  Spenser  charm  with  varied  arts. 
The  holy  precepts  of  our  faith  lie  here ; 

Our  country's  love  by  Wallace  rendered  dear. 
The  Good  Aurelius  on  this  shelf  shall  shine 

(O  grant  my  God  his  virtues  may  be  mine  !) 
Now  Row  and  Mallet  both  adorn  this  cell. 

And  Burns  shall  here  in  future  volumes  swell. 


I  won't  write  you  again  this  great  while,  for  I  am  going 
to  be  very  busy  sewing  shirts  for  my  son,  if  I  can  for  blind- 
ness. I  ought  to  send  your  Spenser,  but  I  feel  loath  to  part 
with  it  yet.  I  could  get  you  Voltaire's  Maid  of  Orleans, 
but  I  have  heard  such  a  character  of  it  that  I  am  afraid  I 
ought  not  to  take  it  into  my  own  hand,  or  reach  it  to  yours. 
But  of  this  you  must  judge  yourself,  as  it  is  neither  a  letter 
or  language  I  can  read.  Only,  remember  you  must  never 
say  you  had  it  from  me,  or  if  it  is  undecent,  allow  it  to 
corrupt  either  your  heart  or  your  writings ;  or  I  shall  never 
forgive  myself  for  having  any  hand  in  gratifying  a  curiosity 
in  which  I  do  not  share.  I  saw  your  favourite  Mr.  Adair  ^ 
at  Edr. ;  he  mentioned  you  almost  as  partially  as  you  did 
him  to  me.  He  is  a  relation  of  mine  —  I  wish  he  were 
also  an  acquaintance.  I  would  be  glad  you  renewed  your 
intercourse  with  him ;  if  that  could  bring  it  about,  it  would 
really  be  doing  me  a  favour,  for  a  reason  I  shall  probably 
tell  you  some  day  or  other,  if  ever  we  are  ordained  to  meet, 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     207 

which  I  begin  somewhat  to  doubt.  I  am  too  old  and  too 
cold  for  poetic  raptures  to  be  inspired  either  by  blooming 
hawthorn  or  budding  birks,  nor  by  your  account  can  aspire 
to  class  with  the  hare-brain'd  heads  of  inspiration  — 

Since  I  in  mediocrity  am  bom  to  dwell, 

Can  neither  soar  to  Heaven  nor  dare  to  sink  to  Hell. 

Apropos  to  birch,  I,  who  am  always  very  prudent  for  my 
neighbours,  am  more  than  half  of  opinion  you  should, 
instead  of  a  holly  garland,  get  a  birch  rod  as  a  reward  for 
your  Ode,  since  it  was  torturing  the  living  to  be  avenged 
of  the  senseless  dead.  Remember,  this  is  only  poetic 
justice,  and  not  pronounced  by  me. 

Curst  be  the  line,  how  smooth  soe'er  it  flow, 
That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe. 

For,  as  the  lines  may  have  beauty  and  merit  if  unappro- 
priated, I  would  absolve  them  and  mercifully  only  punish 
the  guilty  author,  whose  rash  flights  on  Pegasus  are  calcu- 
lated to  break  his  own  neck  instead  of  burning  the  innocent 
Ode,  which,  without  a  name  or  date  is  a  moral  sermon 
against  avarice,  speculation  and  oppression.  Perhaps  you 
may  be  as  disinterested  yourself  as  the  Capt.  of  the  City 
Guard  of  Edr.,  who  cryed  to  the  enraged  mob  to  take  his 
body  but  spare  his  wig.  I  heard  a  man  say  lately  he  had 
seen  a  poem  of  yours  so  grossly  indelicate  he  was  ashamed 
to  read  it  alone  on  a  brae  side.  Could  I  have  believed 
this,  I  would  blush  to  write  you,  or  call  you  my  acquaintance 
and  a  friend  I  valued.  I  hope,  if  it  is  the  case  that  you 
have  once  been  so  far  to  blame,  it  was  at  least  before  we 
had  ever  met,  and  that  this  is  one  of  the  follies  long  cast 
to  air  and  poUshed  off  by  mine,  if  not  by  better  company. 
Farewell !  for  now  I  'm  sure  you  find  I  fatigue  myself  and 


2o8  Correspondence  between 

you  writing  too  long.     I  believe  Kerr  is  still  in  Scotland,  but 
as  I  am  not  sure,  will  send  this  by  my  young  namesake. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Burns's  cousin,  daughter  of  his  uncle  Robert, 
who  died  in  Stevvarton.  The  poet  showed  great  kind- 
ness to  his  cousins  after  the  old  man's  death  (3rd 
January   1789),  and  took  Fanny  into  his  household. 

(2)  Dr.  James  M'Kittrick  Adair,  Burns's  compan- 
ion on  his  tour  in  the  Devon  Valley  in  October  1787, 
and  husband  of  Charlotte  Hamilton. 

To  Burns. 

Dunlop,  24M  I  believe  of  Janry  1789. 

Dr.  Burns,  —  It  is  but  two  days  since  I  told  you  I  would 
not  write  again  for  a  great  while,  and  lo  !  here  I  am  already 
with  the  pen  in  my  hand.  Now,  should  you  be  incHnable 
to  complain  of  this  breach  of  my  promises,  and  reproach 
me  with  being  worse  than  my  word,  I  shall  certainly  repent 
the  right  I  have  given  you  as  a  friend  to  find  fault,  and  wish 
once  more  to  reserve  the  priviledge  politeness  always  allows 
my  sex  of  never  being  in  the  wrong.  But  I  will  hope  this 
is  an  error  to  which  you  may  indulge  a  little  partial  favour ; 
so  shall  tell  you  from  whence  it  proceeds.  You  must  then 
know  Mr.  Mylne  of  Lochhill,  who  died  a  very  few  weeks 
ago,  was  a  very  great  friend  of  my  son  John's,  indeed  more 
so  than  any  man  in  East  Lothian,  except  one  other,  who 
is  also  dead  this  last  week.  I  had  last  night  a  melancholy 
letter  from  John,  where,  after  telling  me  this  double  unfore- 
seen disaster,  he  adds  — 

"  There  was  found  in  Mr.  Mylne's  cabinet  an  address  to 
Burns,  I  am  informed  (by  Mr.  Carfrae  ^)  very  capital ;  it 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     209 

was  inclosed  in  a  letter,  and  had  every  appearance  of  being 
wrote  just  before  his  death  with  an  intention  of  being  sent 
to  Mr.  Burns.  I  told  poor  Mylne's  son-in-law  that  you 
said  something  about  an  elegy.  He  wished  much  to  have 
seen  it,  and  expressed  an  earnest  hope  that  it  might  be 
wrote  perhaps  by  Burns.  They  are  to  send  the  address 
to  me  in  a  few  days  to  be  forwarded  through  your  means 
according  to  the  seeming  desire  of  the  deceased." 

This  for  my  son.  I,  finding  the  death  of  the  man  whose 
dramatic  piece  was  still  vibrating  on  my  ear,  and  the 
dreadful  fate  of  a  family  a  few  days  before  in  an  enviable 
state  of  health  and  prosperity,  affect  my  very  soul,  and 
incline  me  to  throw  my  poor  ideas  together  upon  paper, 
foolishly  fancied  you  might  be  struck  with  a  similar  desire, 
and  therefore  said  to  John  I  might  possibly  be  able  to 
send  him  an  elegy  on  the  poet  if  it  could  be  consolatory 
to  any  of  his  family  to  see  one.  Now,  John,  by  repeat- 
ing this,  had  brought  me  under  the  necessity  of  producing 
something  or  disappointing  the  fond  wish  of  the  afflicted. 
Should  I  transmit  the  lines  I  sent  you,  I  am  apprehensive 
they  would  pass  for  yours,  and  bring  disgrace  upon  your 
past  and  distrust  upon  your  future  fame,  which  I  could 
not  rub  off  in  any  way  but  by  acknowledging  them  myself, 
which  is  among  the  last  expedients  I  would  willingly  be 
reduced  to  accept.  Should  the  circumstances  I  formerly 
told  you  and  those  I  now  relate  move  the  gentle  spirit 
which  I  know  frequently  inhabits  your  breast,  and  should 
your  compassion  flow  with  the  tenth  part  of  the  ease, 
strength  or  eloquence  that  accompanyed  a  late  overflow  of 
the  gall  with  which  yqu  embalmed  the  memory  of  a  person 
whose  name  was  before  odious  to  me  (from  private  resent- 
ment), I  will  much  more  seriously  commend  what  will  still 

VOL.   I.  — 14 


21  o  Correspondence  between 

be  in  unison  with  my  own  feelings  than  I  before  blamed  you 
for  an  attack  which,  I  confess,  gratified  my  own  spleen  in 
every  line,  but  which  I  never  have  shewed  but  to  my  son 
Andrew,  as  I  am  sure  it  would  make  a  loud  cry  against 
you  were  you  pointed  to  as  the  author.  I  feel  a  great 
desire  to  see  this  address  to  you,  and  still  more  to  hear  if 
the  sad  story  of  its  author  touches  those  invisible  threads 
that  tremble  over  a  birk-bud  or  a  hawthorn  bloom,  and 
convey  quick  sensibility  from  their  narrow  base  to  their 
almighty  original.  Indeed,  my  good  friend,  if  this  produce 
not  a  few  lines  of  heavenly  song,  you  will  disappoint  me  as 
much  as  it  can  Mr.  Sherrif  or  Carfrae.  Tho'  at  the  same 
time  that  I  do  not  think  the  last  of  these  gentlemen  devoid 
of  taste,  I  own  I  do  not  build  much  on  the  approbation  he 
bestows  on,  as  it  were,  the  last  words  of  a  long-known  and 
much  honoured  friend,  whose  death  would  fall  like  a 
thunderclap,  and  must  be  long  and  warmly  lamented  by  a 
whole  county  where  he  was  idolized  (although  his  genius 
was  overlooked  or  uncomprehensible)  for  his  modest,  quiet, 
inoffensive,  useful  life,  and  honest,  pious  conversation,  free 
from  every  arrogant,  assuming  air  of  importance  or  supe- 
riority, either  as  a  farmer  or  a  scholar,  in  both  which  points 
the  knowing  considered  him  as  eminent,  but  the  latter  of 
which  was  probably  a  bright  beam  that  only  hurt  eyes  unac- 
customed to  behold  its  blaze  when  it  chanced  to  be  dis- 
cover'd  by  his  neighbours.  Yet  I  own  Mylne  is  to  me 
almost  the  poet  of  creative  imagination,  as  fate  forbade  my 
ever  seeing  him,  but  I  am  sure  his  friends  must  now  feel  in 
reading  his  last  address  (which  1  believe  was  suggested  by 
my  having  begged  leave  to  introduce  you  to  him  should 
you  be  in  that  part  of  the  country)  something  similar  to 
what  I  would  do  should  I  be  doomed  to  read  your  last 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     21 1 

production  after  your  funeral,  instead  of  looking  down  upon 
it,  as  I  hope  to  do,  from  a  more  elevated  station  than  this 
world  can  afford ;  tho'  even  in  this  case  there  would  remain 
a  considerable  distraction,  as  although  clever,  sensible  men, 
their  sensations  on  this  occasion  would  follow  after  mine 
at  as  great  a  distance  as  my  ideas  humbly  tread  after 
yours  where  we  happen  to  think  in  unison,  but  where  my 
words  can  no  more  express  your  thoughts  than  the  faint 
reflection  this  moment  on  the  cold,  wet  surface  of  decay- 
ing jaundiced  snow  does  my  figure.  This  is  Sunday.  I 
would  spend  it  with  more  pleasure  in  writing  you  than  I 
dare  suppose  you  can  have  in  reading  anything  I  ever 
wrote,  did  not  the  post  remind  me  it  is  time  to  fold  up 
my  letter  and  give  it  him.  Perhaps  it  may  reach  you 
before  my  last  sent  by  little  Fanny.  Poor  thing  !  She 
will  have  a  cold  scramble  through  the  snow ;  so  without 
your  arm  she  might  have  had  through  the  world.  I 
wonder  when  I  think  of  these  things  if  the  everlasting 
rewards  of  the  good  are  as  superlatively  different  as  the 
gifts  and  inspirations  which  nature  lends  the  candidates 
who  start  for  them.  Adieu  !  —  Believe  me,  with  daily 
encreasing  esteem,  Dr.  Sir,  your  sincere  friend  and  obliged 
humble  sert.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

Should  a  packet  come  for  you,  may  I  open  it  ?  Tell  me 
this,  and  what  aim  you  have  missed  that  allows  you  to  name 
spring  for  being  in  Ayrshire.  You  see  I  have  forgot  and 
wrot  too  far  to  fold.  Were  you  to  pay  it,  I  would  grudge 
the  clean  paper ;  yet  don't  save  yours  upon  me.  I  assure 
you  't  is  my  favourite  expense,  perhaps  the  only  one  where  I 
have  not  sometimes  been  a  miser  —  a  bold  confession  this 
as   you   treat   the    character,  even  where    most  eminently 


2  I  2  Correspondence  between 

successful.  But  I  don't  know  how  I  have  pict  up  courage 
never  to  stand  in  that  awe  of  you  most  people  would  think 
you  were  intitled  to,  nor  I  hope  have  ever  disoblidged  by 
this  want  of  deference. 

(i)  Mr.  Carfrae,  minister  of  Morham,who  afterwards 
wrote  Burns  about  the  publication  of  Mylne's  poems. 

This  year,  which  began  with  the  New  Year's  Day 
Address  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  is  exceedingly  rich  in  let- 
ters, both  new  and  old,  from  the  poet  to  his  friend. 
She  was  truly  at  this  time  his  "  confidate,"  and  he  did 
not  allow  many  weeks  to  pass  without  sending  to 
Dunlop  a  compound  of  prose  and  verse  substantial 
enough  to  satisfy  the  vanity  of  the  most  exacting 
correspondent.  The  letter  which  follows  is  notable 
not  only  for  its  poetic  contents,  but  also  for  the  poet's 
vindication  —  not  the  only  one  he  offered  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop  —  of  the  practice  of  composing  Fescennine 
verse. 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop. 

To  be  left  at  the  Stewarton  Carrier's 

quarters,  Kilmarnock. 

Ellisland,  t,th  Feb.  1789. 

I  have  rummaged  every  Stationer's  shop  in  Dumfries  for 
a  long  and  broad,  ample  and  capacious,  sized  sheet  of  writ- 
ing paper,  just  to  keep  by  me  for  epistles  to  you,  and  you 
see,  dear  Madam,  by  this  honest-looking  page,  that  I  have 
succeeded  to  a  miracle.  I  own  indeed  you  deserve  a  jolly 
letter.  In  the  first  place,  you  are  no  niggard  that  way  your- 
self, a  quality  absolutely  necessary  in  a  friendly  correspond- 
ence ;  and  in  the  next   place,  you   seem  determined  not 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      2 1 3 

only  to  deserve  my  friendship  such  as  it  is,  but  to  buy  it. 
There  is  a  spirit  in  receiving  as  well  as  in  giving  presents ; 
and  I  insist,  Madam,  that  you  shall  give  me  credit  for  a 
very  considerable  portion  of  the  former,  as  I  have  always 
accepted  the  many  kind  instances  of  your  beneficence, 
without  expressing  or  even  feeling  any  of  that  pettishness  of 
stricken  pride  which  so  many  people  mistake  for  true 
spirit.  I  am  a  miserable  hand  at  your  fine  speeches ;  and 
if  my  gratitude  is  to  be  reckoned  by  my  expression,  I  shall 
come  poorly  off  in  the  account.  Your  benevolent  notices 
of  my  poor,  little  cousin,  I  cannot  pass  in  silence  :  for  your 
goodness  where  your  humble  servant  has  been  the  object,  a 
chearful  honest,  thank  you,  is  all  I  can  say  about  it.  In 
giving  me  your  friendship,  Madam,  you  have  given  me  a 
solid,  permanent  addition  to  my  happiness ;  and  we  shall 
not  quarrel  about  the  ceremonials  of  it. 

I  have  received  both  your  letters,  and  on  the  first  com- 
ing to  hand,  I  would  have  written  you  by  post ;  but  as  it 
rejoices  my  heart  to  send  you  a  packet,  I  have  waited  for 
the  return  of  one  of  my  Mauchline  friends  who  has  been  with 
me  this  week,  to  forward  it  without  that  cursed  postage. 

Your  story  of  poor  Mills  [Mylne]  has  much  interested 
me.  If  it  is  in  my  power,  Madam,  to  gratify  your  wishes 
by  a  little  compliment,  in  the  way  of  my  trade,  to  the  mem- 
ory of  a  friend  of  yours,  you  know  it  will  give  me  the  high- 
est pleasure  to  do  it.  If  the  epistle  he  has  done  me  the 
honor  to  write  me,  come  to  your  hand,  open  it  and  wel- 
come. Still,  you  must  make  me  this  allowance  in  your 
commands,  that  if  the  capricious  baggage,  my  Muse,  is  not 
propitious,  I  will  not  attempt  any  thing  on  the  subject.  I 
have  had  themes  on  my  hands  for  years,  without  being  able 
to  please  myself  in  my  best  efforts. 


214  Correspondence  between 

There  is  a  small  river,  Afton,^  that  falls  into  Nith,  near 
New  Cumnock,  which  has  some  charming,  wild,  romantic 
scenery  on  its  banks.  I  have  a  particular  pleasure  in  those 
little  pieces  of  poetry  such  as  our  Scots  songs,  etc.,  where 
the  names  and  land-skip-features  of  rivers,  lakes,  or  wood- 
lands, that  one  knows,  are  introduced.  I  attempted  a 
compliment  of  that  kind,  to  Afton,  as  follows :  I  mean  it 
for  Johnson's  Musical  Museum. 

Flow  gently,  clear  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
And  grateful  I  '11  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise ; 
My  Mary  's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  clear  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock-dove  whose  echo  resounds  through  the  glen, 
Ye  blackbirds  that  sing  in  yon  wild  thorny  den, 
Thou  green-crested  plover  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  Fair. 

How  lofty,  clear  Afton,  thy  neighbouring  hills, 
Far-mark'd  with  the  courses  of  clear-winding  rills ; 
There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high, 
My  flocks,  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot,  in  my  eye. 

How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  vallies  below. 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow ; 
There  oft  as  mild  evening  weeps  over  the  lea, 
The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides. 
And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides : 
How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave. 
As  gathering  sweet  flowerets  she  stems  thy  pure  wave. 

Flow  gently,  clear  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays. 
My  Mary  's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  clear  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

I  believe  I  formerly  mentioned  some  of  the  following 
verses  to  you,  but  I  have,  since,  altered  them  with  a  view  to 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     215 

interweave  them  in  an  epistle  from  an  unfortunate  lady 
whom  you  knew.  Whether  I  may  ever  finish  it,  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  have  one  or  two  of  the  principal  paragraphs 
already  by  me,  of  which  the  following  is  one  :  ^  — 

Now,  maddening,  wild  I  curse  that  fatal  night ; 
Now  bless  the  hour  that  charm'd  my  guilty  sight. 
In  vain  the  laws  their  feeble  force  oppose, 
Chain'd  at  his  feet  they  groan  Love's  vanquish'd  foes ; 
In  vain  Religion  meets  my  shrinking  eye  ; 
I  dare  not  combat,  but  I  turn  and  fly  : 
Conscience  in  vain  upbraids  th'  unhallow'd  fire ; 
Love  grasps  her  scorpions,  stifled  they  expire  : 
Reason  drops  headlong  from  her  sacred  throne, 
Thy  dear  idea  reigns,  and  reigns  alone ; 
Each  thought  intoxicated  homage  yields. 
And  riots  wanton  in  forbidden  fields ! 

By  all  on  high,  adoring  mortals  know ! 
By  all,  the  conscious  villain  fears  below ! 
By  what,  alas  !  much  more  my  soul  alarms, 
My  doubtful  hopes  once  more  to  fill  thy  arms ! 
Even  shouldst  thou,  false,  forswear  the  guilty  tie. 
Thine,  and  thine  only  I  must  live  and  die ! 

I  am  very  sorry  that  you  should  be  informed  of  my  sup- 
posed guilt  in  composing,  in  some  midnight  frolic,  a  stanza 
or  two  perhaps  not  quite  proper  for  a  clergyman's  reading 
to  a  company  of  ladies.  That  I  am  the  author  of  the  verses 
alluded  to  in  your  letter,  is  what  I  much  doubt.  You  may 
guess  that  the  convivial  hours  of  men  have  their  mysteries  of 
wit  and  mirth ;  and  I  hold  it  a  piece  of  contemptible  base- 
ness, to  detail  the  sallies  of  thoughtless  merriment  or  the 
orgies  of  accidental  intoxication,  to  the  ear  of  cool  sobriety 
or  female  Delicacy. 

I  intend  setting  out  for  Edinburgh  on  Monday  se 'en- 
night,  and  shall  be  there  about  a  week.     I  inclose  you  a 


2i6  Correspondence  between 

piece  of  my  prose,^  which,  for  obvious  reasons,  I  send  you 
for  your  sole  amusement :  it  is  dangerous  ground  to  tread 
on.  A  lover  of  Scots  Drink  can  never  forgive  the  late 
usage  of  our  D rs.  If  you  honor  me  with  a  letter  dur- 
ing my  stay  in  town,  please  direct  to  the  care  of  Peter  Hill, 
Bookseller,  Parliament  Square.  —  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
Dear  Madam,  your  highly  oblidged  humble  servt. 

RoBT.  Burns. 

(i)  This  statement,  while  it  throws  no  light  on  the 
identity  of  the  Mary  of  the  song,  settles  beyond 
doubt  the  vexed  question  of  the  name-place  of 
"  Sweet  Afton."  The  song  is  No.  389  in  the  fourth 
volume  of  Johnson's  Miiseimi.  Note  that  the  origi- 
nal epithet  was  "  clear  "  not  "  sweet,"  an  instance  of 
a  second  thought  leading  the  poet  astray. 

(2)  The  second  version  of  "  Passion's  Cry,"  first 
sent  to  Clarinda  (see  App.  B,  vol.  ii.),  and  now  adapted 
to  the  case  of  Mrs.  Maxwell  Campbell  of  Skerring- 
ton,  and  supposed  to  be  addressed  by  her  to  her 
paramour  from  the  West  Indies.  See  Chambers,  vol. 
ii.  p.  6y ;  vol.  iii.  p.  37.  1896.  Mrs.  Dunlop  had 
known  Mrs.  Maxwell  Campbell  before  her  fall. 

(3)  The  "  Address  of  the  Scotch  Distillers  to  the 
Right  Hon.  William  Pitt."  See  Chambers,  vol.  iii. 
pp.  59-61. 

To  Burns. 

Dunlop,  lotk  Fehry.  [1789]. 

Dr.  Burns,  —  I  have  been  very  busy  since  I  vvrot  you 
last,  at  least  busy  for  a  lady,  who,  if  the  fairest,  are  certainly 
not  the  most  useful  part  of  creation.     I  have  in  the  last  six 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     2 1 7 


weeks  or  thereabout  made  my  son  six  holland  shirts,  which, 
bUnd  as  I  am,  is  no  small  undertaking,  when  one  considers, 
too,  of  what  pleasures  I  have  deprived  myself  meantime, 
and  that  while  I  have  been  painfully  earning  the  twelve  or 
fifteen  shillings  my  work  would  have  cost,  I  have  not  even 
indulged  myself  in  writing  a  single  letter  to  you,  who  are 
the  approven  correspondent  of  my  choise,  and  whose  letters 
I  would  not  exchange  for  all  the  intellectual  feast  I  could 
have  gathered  from  the  Alexandrian  Library  (especially  as 
it  would  be  mostly  Greek  or  Latin).  Do  you  think  that 
petty  sum,  even  to  such  a  miser  as  I,  should  be  an  equiva- 
lent for  so  much  self-denial?  A  common  calculator  would 
at  once  answer  No ;  but  I  have  another  manner  of  stating 
the  accompt.  When  I  work  I  consider  myself  not  only  as 
intitled  to  the  price  of  my  labour,  but  as  unaccountable  also 
for  as  much  of  my  income  as  I  should  in  the  space  of  time 
have  lost  at  cards  or  squandered  in  some  amusement  suited 
to  my  rank  and  circumstances,  and  in  those  decorations 
which  vanity  or  custom  seem  to  appropriate  to  my  age  and 
situation,  and  which  my  family  would  not  have  thought 
interested  or  selfish  my  turning  from  theirs  wholly  to  my 
own  use.  Thus,  as  the  reward  of  my  industry,  I  reckon 
myself  at  liberty  to  trifle  away  something  not  exceeding  a 
great  deal  what  I  have  saved  them  in  cash,  and  where  the 
satisfaction  to  myself  may  be  in  some  degree  proper  turned 
to  the  advantage  I  hope  they  will  reap  by  my  sober  moder- 
ate example  in  the  future  imployment  of  their  time.  Now, 
if  my  arithmetic  can  be  trusted,  I  do  not  rate  this  too  high 
^t  £S-  ^ly  head  therefore,  while  my  hands  were  going, 
was  intently  employed  on  solving  this  problem,  "  'What  shall 
I  do  with  this  that  it  will  please  me  most  and  longest? "  I 
have  no  taste  for  dress ;  the  sum  can  be  of  no  import  to  all 


21  8  Correspondence  between 

my  children ;  to  give  it  to  one  would  be  like  discord  throw- 
ing an  apple  among  the  goddesses.  To  be  sure,  I  may  buy 
a  lottery  ticket,  at  least  part  of  one,  but  alas  !  I  have  little 
faith,  and  in  truth  no  desire  for  wealth.  Therefore  hope 
will  be  cold  and  insipid  and  disappointment  fretting  in 
this  poor,  abortive  South-Sea  scheme.  At  this  moment  of 
my  speculation  fancy  presented  a  vision  which  made  me 
happy  for  a  moment,  although  the  ^30,000  prize  could 
not  do  so  in  idea  for  myself.  I  put  the  note  into  an  old 
snuff-box,  saying  to  myself  with  exultation  at  the  discov- 
ery, "  This  will  buy  a  quarter  chance  for  my  friend  Burns. 
Should  he  have  as  little  faith  as  I  have,  he  will  not  tell 
me  so,  but  will  convert  it  into  something  that  will  please 
himself  here.  I  can  never  be  disappointed,  and  shall  for 
a  year  to  come  enjoy  the  dear  delight  of  knowing  that 
there  is  a  possibility  of  my  having  been  the  means  of  mak- 
ing the  fortune  of  a  man  whose  talents  I  admire,  whose 
character  I  esteem,  and  whose  friendship  I  flatter  myself  I 
in  a  considerable  degree  possess ;  to  whom  my  country 
owes  much  and  pays  little,  who  may  henceforth  celebrate 
still  more  than  he  has  already  done  the  fame  of  my  fore- 
fathers, and  do  it  the  more  warmly  for  my  sake.  Yes, 
money  for  once  does  make  me  happy,  and  nothing  shall 
divert  it  from  this  channel,  where  I  feel  it  able  to  pour 
forth  a  great,  an  innocent,  and  inexhaustible  spring  of  joy, 
that  will  flow  uninterrupted  for  twelve  or  fourteen  months 
in  spite  of  Fortune  herself.  Nay,  should  she  then  do  as  I 
would  have  her,  I  shall  half  forgive  many  a  scurvy  trick 
she  has  heretofore  played  me."  So  saying,  I  shut  the  lid, 
and  shut  it  shall  remain  till  I  know  my  letters  go  so  safe  as 
may  tempt  me  to  trust  this  treasure  of  future  hope  to  the 
same  conveyance ;  for  of  late  I  have  had  some  doubt  from 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      219 

your  silence  which  I  in  vain  cast  about  to  find  a  reason  for. 
Sometimes  I  think  you  have  not  received  my  two  last  let- 
ters ;  sometimes  I  fear  lest  any  expression  or  omission  of 
mine  has  verified  in  your  mind  a  prediction  you  long  ago 
uttered  that  I  would  not  have  delicacy  to  carry  on  a  corre- 
spondence without  hurting  you.     If  I  have  done  so,  I  dare 
not  say  I  would  pluck  out  an  eye  or  cut  off  a  hand,  but  I 
would  throw  my  pen  in  the  fire,  and  blot  out  the  offending 
particle  with  a  tear  of  sincere  penitence,  to  be  again  rein- 
stated in  my  own  forgiveness  and  your  favour,  tho',  unless 
I  have  whipt  myself  out  of  it  with  the  birch-rod  you  put  in 
my  way,  and  which  female  wit,  which  is  always  foolish  and 
often  ill-bred,  led  me  to  catch  it  when  I  was  affecting  not 
to  be  pleased  with  your  inimitable  Ode,  which  Churchill 
might  have  been  proud  of,  I  cannot  guess  why  you  should 
deprive  me  of  a  letter  now  and  then,  when  you  know  what 
pains  I  have  bestowed  to  draw  from  you  that  correspond- 
ence I  was    shunning    from    almost    every   other   quarter. 
Make  me  easie  on  this  point  if  you  can,  and  don't  allow 
me  to  look  back  with  regret  to  Agt.  last,  when  I  heard  from 
you  four  times  in  one  month.     Yet  I  would  not  be  unrea- 
sonable.    I  would  allow  you  to  be  silent  in  seed-time  and 
harvest,  or  whenever  you  were  better  employed  for  Mam- 
mon or  the  Muses.     Only,  I  would  like  you  told  me  what 
you  were  about  beforehand,  or  shewed  me  afterwards.     I 
wrot  you  a  long  letter  by  Fanny  Burns,  and  sent   you  a 
book,  which  I  stole  for  that  purpose  half  an  hour  before, 
having  heard  it  was  very  scarce,  and  perhaps  only  for  that 
reason  much  valued.      I  yesterday  received  the   inclosed 
letters  and  poem  to  send  you,  which  I  take  the  earliest 
opportunity  of  doing.     I  shall  make  no  farther  comment 
than  by  saying  I  do  think  the  only  Scots  a  man  ever  tryed 


2  20  Correspondence  between 

to  write  to  me  must  appear  a  badly  chosen  specimen  of 
English  tragedy,  and  would  hardly  promote  the  interest  of 
the  family  in  any  future  publication.  I  have  altered  and 
transposed  some  lines  of  my  Elegy  on  Mr.  Mylne  at  the 
beginning  and  end  thus.     Ending  as  below :  — 

Let  all  the  tears  of  all  the  Muses  flow, 

And  yours  and  mine  redouble  all  their  woe ; 

Yet  Grief  reserves  her  sharpest  shaft  for  you, 

A  brother-farmer  and  a  poet  too. 

Should  lightning  blast  the  Lover's  painted  dome 

And  make  his  nuptial  bed  a  funeral  tomb. 

Not  more  the  shoke  your  bosom-chords  could  tear, 

And  less  the  loss  society  would  bear 

Beyond  the  leech's  salutary  skill,  etc. 


And  Cormac  greet  him  with  a  prince's  love, 
The  King  of  Kings  his  words  and  works  regard, 
And  crown  his  goodness  with  a  great  reward. 

In  this  shape  it  will  appear  as  a  letter  wrot  you  with  the 
accounts  of  his  death,  and  perhaps  those  who  wish  it  so 
may  flatter  themselves  it  is  not  only  to  but  by  you,  as  it  will 
be  sent  anonymous,  and  every  one  does  not  know  hands. 

You  say  one  always  writes  best  where  the  heart  is  really 
interested  in  the  subject.  Now,  tell  me  how  you  like  the 
following  address  to  a  young  lady  of  your  acquaintance, 
where  I  asure  you  the  author  was  much  interested. 

When  French  Marcatchi  forms  our  British  race 

To  move  in  all  the  elegance  of  grace, 

The  first  exertions  of  the  youthful  fair 

Distort  the  figure  and  degrade  the  air. 

The  awkward  jump  may  fill  us  with  surprize, 

But  pours  no  pleasure  on  our  sated  eyes : 

So  the  first  efforts  of  the  feeling  brain 

Contorts  the  face  and  raise  each  swelling  vein; 

Quick  sensibility  in  hurried  starts  is  seen, 

A  childish  hoyden  romping  on  the  green ; 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     221 


Her  kindness  forward,  and  her  anger  loud, 
Her  carriage  rustic,  and  her  spirit  proud. 
A  generous  frenzy  animates  that  soul. 
Where  in-born  rectitude  rejects  controul. 
From  her  bright  eyes  keen  flashes  ardent  dart, 
Deep  crimson  dyes  each  motion  of  her  heart. 
A  hulkish  form,  with  intervening  shade, 
Obscures  the  lovely  work  by  Nature  made, 
Till  passing  time  a  magic  vail  prepare' 
Of  modest  beauty's  mild  attractive  air; 
Move  to  soft  melody  life's  shifting  scene, 
And  mark  its  ever  calm  gentle  and  serene. 
When  sage  experience  holds  the  bearing  rein. 
That  slacks  the  nerves  to  harmony  again, 
Then  the  pure  honey  of  the  melting  soul 
Throws  a  milk  liquid  lustre  on  the  whole ; 
Bids  neat  simplicity  of  dress  adorn. 
And  gesture  modest  as  the  blushing  mom. 
Whose  sweet  effulgence  lumid  tears  bedew, 
Such  as  soft  love  or  pity  draws  from  you. 
So  too  be  yours  the  gentle  whispering  gale, 
And  sweet  perfumes  her  vernal  breath  exhale, 
Diffusing  pleasure  to  each  living  thing 
Young,  gay  and  chearful  as  the  blythsome  spring. 
Like  the  fair  plant  that  from  our  touch  withdraws, 
Shrink  mildly  fearful  even  from  applause ; 
Be  all  a  mother's  fondest  hope  can  dream, 
And  all  you  are,  my  charming  girl,  seem. 
Straight  as  the  fox-glove  ere  her  bells  disclose, 
Mild  as  the  maiden-blushing  hawthorn  blows. 
Fair  as  the  fairest  of  each  lovely  kind. 
Your  form  shall  show  some  shadow  of  your  mind. 
Your  manners  shall  so  true  your  soul  express. 
That  all  shall  long  to  know  the  worth  they  guess. 
Congenial  hearts  their  partner  shall  espie. 
And  ladies  love  the  maid  they  must  envy. 

\1th  Febry. 

I  was  just  got  this  length  when  I  had  yours  where  you 
answer  me  as  it  were    by  anticipation.     I    read  this  over 


222  Correspondence  between 

again,  and  half  inclined  to  put  it  in  the  fire ;  yet  I  re- 
membered it  was  your  property,  and  I  had  no  right  to 
abstract  it  from  you.  I  therefore  send  it  immediately, 
tho'  half  afraid  yours  has  been  so  long  on  the  road  it  may 
miss  you.  I  shall  let  you  pay  for  it,  as  I  am  not  sure  if 
Mr.  Kerr  is  in  town.  I  will  even  run  the  chance  of  losing 
you  8d.  by  adding  a  cover  rather  than  excite  curiosity  by 
telling  the  public  that  you  are  in  Edr.,^  when  perhaps  you 
would  not  chuse  to  be  honour'd  with  their  notice.  I  will 
also  send  you  the  packets  I  received  for  you  from  my  son 
John  two  days  ago,  containing  Mr.  Carfrae's  letter  and  the 
poem  with  the  altered  lines  on  poor  Mylne,  which  you 
may  dispose  of  as  you  please,  only  never  saying  but  they 
are  your  own,  at  least  not  hinting  that  they  are  mine. 
There  was  also  a  letter  for  you  from  John,  containing,  I 
dare  say,  nothing  but  expressions  of  the  real  goodwill  he 
bears  you,  or  an  invitation  to  see  him  if  you  were  in  that 
neighbourhood.  I  do  not  send  it,  lest  it  should  make  this 
too  large,  and  the  travling  charges  immense,  should  it  have 
to  follow  you  to  Nithsdale.  Meantime,  if  you  let  me  know 
by  next  post  if  anything  prolong  your  stay  in  town  so  long 
that  it  could  reach  you  there,  and  that  Kerr  is  still  there 
to  take  charge  of  a  future  letter  for  you,  I  will  then  write 
you  all  my  Edr.  commissions,  send  you  John's  letter  and 
any  thing  else  that  strikes  me  in  the  head,  rhyme  or  prose. 
I  must  undeceive  you  in  one  thing.  I  was  not  even  ac- 
quaint with  poor  Mylne.  I  only  read  "Darthula,"^  and 
wished  to  see  him,  but  death  stept  between.  You  are 
the  only  poet  good  enough  to  allow  me  the  name  of  your 
sincere  friend,  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

Postscript.  —  Yours  has  been  a  fortnight  on  the   road. 
I  cannot  afford  to  save  postage  at  such  an  expense  again. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      223 

(i)  Burns  visited  Edinburgh  about  the  end  of 
February  to  have  a  further  "  racking  "  of  accounts 
with  Creech,  and,  as  afterwards  appears  (p.  233),  to 
arrange  about  getting  an  Excise  division.  Mrs. 
Dunlop's  letter  of  the  lOth  caught  him  there,  and 
his  reply,  which  follows  here,  is  the  only  letter  he  is 
known  to  have  dated  from  the  capital  during  this 
visit. 

(2)  The  title  of  Mylne's  tragedy,  previously 
noticed. 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 

Stewarton. 

Edin.  Saturday  Morning  l^zyd  Feb.  1789]. 

Your  kind  packet,  my  much  esteemed  friend,  is  just 
come  to  hand.  In  my  hurried  hours  in  this  place  I  have 
not  yet  had  time  to  peruse  Mylne's  verses,  but  I  have  three 
times  o'er  without  interval  perused  your  incomparable 
verses  to  your  young  lady.  It  is  evident,  My  dear  Madam, 
that  you  were  deeply  interested  in  the  subject ;  as  you 
have  in  these  lines  not  only  risen  above  yourself,  but,  upon 
the  honor  of  a  Man,  and  the  skill  of  a  Critic  !  you  have 
risen  above  any  thing  of  the  kind  done  by  any  author  now 
living.  So  soon  as  I  return  to  Nithsdale,  which  will  be  in 
four  or  five  days,  I  shall  write  a  criticism  on  their  merits. 

I  am  here  more  unhappy  than  I  ever  experienced  before 
in  Edinburgh.  I  am  a  poor  man  of  business,  and  I  have 
got  some  very  serious  business  to  do ;  I  love  the  social 
pleasures  in  moderation,  but  here  I  am  impressed  into 
the  service  of  Bacchus ;  and  I  am  from  home. 

But,  truce  with  peevish,  poor  complaining  !  I  will  not 
tax  your  friendship  with  my   weakness.     Were  it  not  for 


2  24  Correspondence  between 

hurting  your  feelings,  I  would  likewise  add,  that  I  will  no 
more  be  thus  indebted  to  your  beneficence ;  but  I  checked 
a  momentary  pang  of  something  like  wounded  pride,  and 
taxed  my  ingenuity  to  assist  your  wishes.  It  oblidges  me 
to  let  you  into  an  intention  of  mine  rather  prematurely, 
but  as  it  is  the  only  way  I  can  think  of  being  oblidged  by 
you,  in  that  manner,  I  must  tell  it  you.  I  hope  to  be 
a  father  again  in  about  two  or  three  months,  and  I  had 
resolved  and  indeed  had  told  Mrs.  Burns,  that  the  said 
child  should  be  christened  by  the  name  of  Frances  Dun- 
lop,  if  a  girl,  or  Francis,  etc.,  if  a  boy;  that  while  the 
child  should  exist,  it  might  be  a  witness  of  a  Friendship 
to  which  I  owe  much  of  the  pleasurable  part  of  my  life ; 
a  Friendship  which  I  wish  to  hand  down  to  my  posterity  as 
one  of  the  honors  of  their  Ancestor.  Let  this  said  Miss 
Frances  or  Mr.  Francis  be  the  object  of  your  intended 
beneficence  with  all  my  soul.  Perhaps  in  the  case  of 
a  boy,  you  would  rather  wish  to  wait  for  one  of  your  own 
sex,  that  might  take  the  exact  Name ;  and  as  I  have  not  the 
smallest  doubt  of  being  very  soon  able  to  accommodate 
you  in  that  way  too,  I  shall  expect  your  commands  some- 
time before  the  important  period. 

I  am  here  just  in  a  vortex,  so  must  conclude  with  a 
simple  heartfelt  A  Dieuje  vous  coinmende  ! 

RoBT.  Burns. 

I  '11  write  you  on  my  return  home. 

Mrs.  DuNLOP  of  Dunlop, 

Dunlop  House,  Stewarton. 

Ellisland,  March  i,th,  1789. 

Here  am  I,  my  honored  Friend,  returned  safe  from  the 
Capital.  To  a  man  who  has  a  home,  however  humble  or 
remote ;  if  that  home  is  like  mine,  the  scene  of  Domestic 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      225 

comfort ;    the  bustle  of  Edinburgh  will  soon  be  a  business 
of  sickening  disgust. 

Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  you ! 

When  I  must  sculk  into  a  corner,  lest  the  rattling  equi- 
page of  some  gaping  blockhead,  contemptible  puppy,  or 
detestable  scoundrel  should  mangle  me  in  the  mire,  I  am 
tempted  to  exclaim  —  "  What  merits  have  these  wretches 
had,  or  what  demerits  have  I  had,  in  some  state  of  Pre- 
existence,  that  they  are  ushered  into  this  state  of  being 
with  the  sceptre  of  rule  and  the  key  of  riches  in  their 
puny  fists;  and  I  am  kicked  into  the  world,  the  sport 
of  their  folly  or  the  victim  of  their  pride  ?  "  I  have  read 
somewhere  of  a  monarch,  in  Spain  I  think  it  was,  who 
was  so  out  of  humour  with  the  Ptolemean  system  of  as- 
tronomy, that  he  said,  had  he  been  of  the  Creator's  coun- 
cil he  could  have  saved  Him  a  great  deal  of  labor  and 
absurdity.  I  will  not  defend  this  blasphemous  speech; 
but  often  as  I  have  glided  in  humble  stealth  through  the 
pomp  of  Princes'  Street,  it  has  suggested  itself  to  me  as  an 
improvement  on  the  present  Human  figure,  that  a  man 
in  proportion  to  his  own  conceit  of  his  consequence  in 
the  world,  could  have  pushed  out  the  longitude  of  his 
common  size,  as  a  snail  pushes  out  his  horns,  or  as  we 
draw  out  a  perspective.  This  trifling  alteration,  not  to 
mention  the  prodigious  sa\dng  it  would  be  in  the  tear 
and  wear  of  the  neck  and  limb-sinews  of  many  of  his 
Majesty's  liege  subjects  in  the  way  of  tossing  the  head 
and  tiptoe  strutting,  would  evidently  turn  out  a  vast  ad- 
vantage in  enabling  us  at  once  to  adjust  the  ceremonials 
in  making  a  bow  or  making  way,  to  a  Great  Man,  and  that 
too,  within  a  second  of  the  precise  spherical  angle  of 
VOL.  I.  — 15 


2  26  Correspondence  between 

reverence  or  an  inch  of  the  particular  point  of  respectful 
distance,  which  the  important  creature  itself  requires ;  as 
a  measuring  glance  at  its  towering  altitude  would  deter- 
mine the  affair  like  instinct. 

You  are  right,  Madam,  in  your  idea  of  poor  Mylne's 
poem  which  he  has  addressed  to  me.  The  piece  has  a 
good  deal  of  merit,  but  it  has  one  damning  fault  —  it  is 
by  far  too  long.  Besides,  my  success  has  encouraged  such 
a  shoal  of  ill-spawned  monsters  to  crawl  into  public  notice 
under  the  title  of  Scots  Poets,  that  the  very  term,  Scots 
Poetry,  borders  on  the  burlesque.  When  I  write  to  Mr. 
Carfrae,  I  shall  advise  him  rather  to  try  one  of  his  de- 
ceased friend's  English  pieces.  I  am  prodigiously  hur- 
ried with  my  own  matters,  else  I  would  have  requested  a 
perusal  of  all  Mylne's  poetic  performances;  and  would 
have  offered  his  friends  my  assistance  in  either  selecting 
or  correcting  what  would  be  proper  for  the  Press.  What 
it  is  that  occupies  me  so  much,  and  perhaps  oppresses  my 
present  spirits,  shall  fill  up  a  paragraph  in  some  future 
letter.  In  the  mean  time,  allow  me  to  close  this  epistle 
with  a  few  lines  done  by  a  friend  of  mine,  which  for  beauty 
I  shall  put  against  any  as  many  lines  in  our  language.  I  give 
you  them,  that,  as  you  have  seen  the  original,  you  may 
guess  whether  one  or  two  alterations  I  have  ventured  to 
make  in  them  be  any  real  improvement. 

Like  the  fair  plant  that  from  our  touch  withdraws 
Shrink,  mildly  fearful,  even  from  applause  : 
Be  all  a  Mother's  fondest  hopes  can  dream, 
And  all  you  are,  my  charming  girl,  seem. 
Straight  as  the  fox-glove,  ere  her  bells  disclose. 
Mild  as  the  maiden-blushing  hawthorn  blows. 
Fair  as  the  fairest  of  each  lovely  kind, 
Your  form  shall  be  the  image  of  your  mind. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     227 

Your  manners  shall  so  true  your  soul  express, 
That  all  shall  long  to  know  the  worth  they  guess ; 
Congenial  hearts  shall  greet  with  kindred  love, 
And  even  sick'ning  Envy  must  approve. i 

I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Madam,  your  oblidged  friend  and 
humble  servt,  Robt.  Burns. 

(i)  Mrs.  Dunlop's  "  Address  to  a  Young  Lady  " 
amended.     See  antea,  p.  220. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

Ellisland,  Dumfries.  Dunlop,  I'&th  March  1789. 

[Franked  by  Kerr :  Edinr.,  Twenty-first  March  1789.] 

Dear  Sir,  —  I  cannot  express  the  pleasure  I  always  feel 
in  discovering  I  am  got  two  letters  in  your  debt,  nor  do 
I  know  how  to  thank  my  good  friend  for  an  event  so 
truly  soothing  to  my  pride.  Believe  me  I  most  sincerely 
acknowledge  this  as  amply  compensating  for  a  thousand 
mortifications  it  might  be  subjected  to  in  my  intercourse 
with  those  of  the  world  I  value  less,  and  whose  claims  are 
built  on  very  different  foundations  —  different  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  and  still  more  widely  different  in  mine. 

I  knew  not  where  to  find  you,  in  town  or  countr}',  in 
peace  or  war,  tuning  your  melodious  reed,  dropping  aqua 
fords,  or  whetting  the  sharp  scythe  of  political  satire'^  — 
a  word  my  mild  Muse  does  not  ev^en  know  how  to  spell, 
you  see.  I  was  afraid  you  might  be  so  strongly  sucked 
into  the  vortex  where  you  were  as  to  stay  longer  than  you 
planned  or  I  wished.  I  could  not  write,  but  often  thought 
of  you,  and  in  one  of  those  reveries  which  fancy  sometimes 
leads  me  into,  my  pen  of  itself  scratched  the  inclosed  verses 
and  letter,  almost   without  knowing  it;  perhaps  I  should 


2  28  Correspondence  between 

have  thrown  both  in  the  fire,  but,  as  I  told  you  formerly, 
"  Unawed  before  the  bard,  the  phantoms  pass."  You  say 
I  wounded  your  pride.  I  am  sure  I  never  intended  to  do 
so ;  nay,  should  I  now  probe  that  wound  to  the  very  quick, 
it  would  still  be  the  cruel  act  of  a  friendly  surgeon,  who 
wished  only  to  cure  the  patient,  not  torture  the  distemper ; 
nay,  loath  would  I  be  even  it  should  expire  under  my  hand, 
for  I  think  in  a  moderate  degree  it  is  one  of  the  best  com- 
panions ever  a  poor  man  was  blest  or  even  sometimes  curst 
with.  But  if  you  have  no  objection  to  consult  Mr.  Graham 
on  the  merits  of  this  composition,^  seal  and  send  it ;  you 
have  my  free  leave,  though  I  am  so  much  a  stranger  to 
your  present  plans  that  I  durst  not  do  so  myself  without 
consulting  you ;  though  your  ideas  of  female  delicacy  will 
not  be  increast  by  my  present  communication,  unless  in 
this  you  are  as  truly  superiour  to  the  general  run  of  the 
world  as  I  have  often  esteemed  you  on  other  occasions,  or, 
as  Fate  has  often  left  you  beneath  your  worst  inferiours  in 
fortune  and  in  the  estimation  of  fools.  It  is  a  cruel  tax 
malevolence  lays  on  talents  to  depreciate  the  moral  char- 
acter of  those  who  incontestably  possess  them,  and  force 
one's  friends,  in  resentment  of  underhand  massacres,  to 
repeat  truths  that  speak  plain  enough  themselves  to  all 
who  are  unprejudiced  by  malicious  whisperers.  Should 
such  earwigs  have  crawled  towards  Fintry,  I  would  like  to 
brush  them  off.  It  was  this  train  of  thinking  led  me  to 
write  the  inclosed,  and  the  same  motive  may  perhaps  induce 
you  to  send  it,  spite  of  any  objections  pride  may  enter. 

I  delight  in  your  fancyful  cynic  adieu  to  the  metropolis, 
nor  can  any  line  even  of  yours  give  me  more  pleasure  than 
the  one  that  so  naturally  assures  me  of  your  finding  home 
the  scene   of  domestic  comfort.     You  tell  me  you  were 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     229 

prest  into  the  service  of  Bacchus,  and  I  suspect  you  have 
been  on  actual  duty  when  you  wrot;   you  say  so  much 
more  than  usual  of  my  poor  lines.     Are  you  not  afraid  to 
make  one  snail  put  forth  her  horn  to  a  ludicrous  exaltation, 
since  self-conceit  is  to  be  the  moving  spring?     Yet  I  don't 
know  but  in  time  your  correspondence  may  make  me  a 
shadow  of  a  poet,  for  I  feel  I  imbibe  some  of  your  graces, 
particularly  that  noble   obstinacy  that    led    you  rather  to 
leave  poor  Wallace  wight  unhappy  for  ever  than  yield  one 
syllable  to  my  criticism.     After  your  good  example  I  re- 
solve to  defend  my  last  couplet  as  preferable  in  its  own 
place   to  your  alteration.     Perhaps  yours  might   be  more 
emphatical  from  a  man  to  his  mistress,  but  an  old  woman, 
speaking  to  her  young  ward,  points  out  the  single  partner 
for  life,  not  the  vain  idea  of  general  admiration  or  divided 
love  exprest  in  the  first  line,  and  in  the  last  alludes  in  the 
word  envy  only  to  that  desire  of  equalling  by  a  laudable 
emulation  or  imitation  the  happy  female  we  approve  of. 
That    envy   whose    malignity  sickens    at   being    forced    to 
applaud  is  truly  masculine,  wholly  unknown  to  the  soul  of  the 
gentle  pupil,  and  even  only  taught  at  second  hand  to  the  old 
monitress  herself  when  time  has  stole  away  the  softness  of 
her  sex.     Read  them  a  fourth  time,  and  say,  if  truth  will  let 
you,  that  you  are  not  then  of  my  opinion,  and  if  you  would 
not  think  the  mind  more   enchanting  that  aspired  to  the 
affection  of  those  of  her  own  sex  who  saw  her  please  more 
than  themselves,  than  hers  who  could  rejoice  in  the  hope  of 
their  sick'ning  and  pining  with  envy  at  those  qualities  to 
which  they  could  not  refuse  their  reluctant  applause. 

I  dare  not  ask  what  is  busying  or  troubling  you,  since 
you  don't  yet  like  to  say.  While  we  live  in  this  world  we 
must   frequently  share    its   distresses.     I   truly  sympathise 


230  Correspondence  between 

with  yours,  even  without  knowing  what  they  are,  nor  am 
I  free  from  my  own  at  this  moment.  Indeed  the  mother 
of  a  score  of  children  can  seldom  want  cares  or  crosses, 
either  in  reality  or  imagination.  In  every  situation,  how- 
ever, I  must  feel  your  friendship  and  esteem  inexpressibly 
soothing ;  nor  can  anything  flatter  my  self-love  more  than 
the  value  you  place  on  my  correspondence  and  regard, 
when  you  intend  me  the  name  of  your  child  in  so  kind  and 
obliging  a  manner.  Yet  I  must  tell  you  you  have  made 
a  miserable  choise,  for  a  sad  worthless  name  it  has  proved 
to  nineteen  who  have  already  worn  it,  and  to  whom  it  has 
never,  as  far  as  I  remember,  signified  one  single  straw  more 
than  the  name  itself,  which  to  be  sure,  as  a  name,  might 
serve  a  Spanish  guarda  costa  or  a  German  prince.  As  I 
was  baptized  Frances  Ann,  and  by  law  and  custom  obliged 
to  call  myself  Agnew  Dunlop,  while  vanity  bids  me  remind 
you  and  myself  I  was  a  Wallace,  yet,  my  dr.  sir,  if  you 
know  anybody  the  child  might  be  the  better  of,  it  would 
be  unjust  to  it,  poor  little  innocent !  to  load  it  with  so 
much  lumber,  even  should  there  be  two  again  to  bear  the 
weight ;  for  you  know  I  never  deceived  you  from  the  first. 
We  set  out,  like  King  Pharamond  and  his  secretary,  with 
no  expectations  from  each  other  but  those  of  speaking  and 
hearing  truth  just  in  the  first  unstudied  shape  in  which  she 
presented  herself  to  either  pen,  and  I  'm  sure  at  least  I 
have  kept  to  the  articles  in  always  giving  you  the  undis- 
guised thoughts  of  the  minute,  be  what  they  would.  But 
to  leave  this ;  how  do  you  like  the  following  simile  ?  — 

The  village  damsels  follow  in  a  train, 
To  pick  the  gleanings  of  the  yellow  grain; 
One  maid  distinguished  in  an  azure  vest 
Superiour  shone,  eclipsing  all  the  rest. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      231 


Amidst  the  barren,  spritty  grass  below, 

Superiour  rising  to  superiour  woe. 

So  the  blue  hare-bell  oft  is  singly  seen 

In  robe  unclouded  deck  th'  uncultur'd  green  1 

Sweet  solitary  flower  by  Nature  cast, 

Without  a  leaf  to  shield  her  from  the  blast. 

Bent  by  each  breath,  and  trembling  from  the  knell, 

And  hence  by  peasants  term'd  the  Dead  Man's  Bell. 

I  am  sorry  to  see  you  have  wrot  out  your  foolscap.  I 
wish  you  had  kept  a  sheet  for  me.  I  assure  you  'twas 
greatly  adapted  to  my  taste,  and  I  regret  the  change. 
Meanwhile,  the  different  size  of  this  obliges  me  to  bid  you, 
I  dare  say,  what  you  will  think  no  premature  adieu. 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  She  had  made  more  than  one  attempt  at  the 
word,  but  really  succeeded  in  the  end. 

(2)  Mrs.  Dunlop,  who  knew  Graham  of  Fintry, 
one  of  the  Commissioners  of  Excise,  had  written  him 
on  Burns's  behalf,  and  also  a  set  of  verses,  probably 
on  the  same  theme. 

The  following  letter  shows  that  Burns  had  reached 
a  state  of  mind  almost  approaching  despair  about  his 
farm,  long  before  his  sweeping  statement  to  Gilbert 
of  January  1790,  that  "It  is  a  ruinous  affair  on  all 
hands."  Here  we  have  him,  in  March  1789,  when 
he  had  not  been  a  year  in  Ellisland,  speaking  of  his 
farm  as  "  a  very,  very  hard  bargain,  if  at  all  practi- 
cable." Yet,  barely  a  couple  of  months  before,  on 
3rd  February,  he  wrote  to  Bishop  Geddes  that  he 
had  good  hopes  of  the  farm ;  while  on  22nd  January 
he  had  told  Lady  Betty  Cunningham  that  he  was  pretty 


232  Correspondence  between 

sure  that  it  would  do  well  in  time,  though  for  several 
years  it  would  require  more  assistance  than  his  pocket 
could  afford.  But  Burns  had  of  course  moods  about 
his  farm  as  about  many  other  things.  Otherwise  the 
letter  throws  fresh  light  on  the  procedure  taken  by 
the  poet  in  order  to  procure  regular  occupation  in 
the  Excise.  Besides  racking  accounts  with  Creech 
on  his  visit  to  Edinburgh  in  February,  he  had  inter- 
viewed Mr.  Graham  of  Fintry  with  a  view  to  appoint- 
ment to  a  division. 

Mrs.  DuNLOP  of  Dunlop, 

Dunlop  House,  Stewarton. 

Ellisland,  2$fk  March  1789. 

Dear  Madam,  —  I  have  this  moment  your  kind  packet 
of  the  1 8th,  and  tho'  sore  tired  with  the  labours  of  the  day, 

.  .  .  throwing  the  grain 
Into  the  faithful  bosom  of  the  ground, 

yet,  as  I  have  a  boy,  my  herd,  going  for  Ayrshire  to-morrow 
morning,  and  who  will  be  at  Kilmarnock,  I  shall  make  him 
go  so  much  farther  and  leave  this  at  Dunlop. 

You  have  a  little  miscalculated  my  feelings,  my  honored 
friend,  respecting  the  naming  of  my  child.  To  name  my 
child  after  any  of  the  Great,  with  a  view  to  their  future 
beneficence,  is  quite  foreign  to  my  ideas  :  my  motive  is 
gratitude,  not  selfishness.  Though  I  may  die  a  very  poor 
man,  yet  I  hope  my  children  shall  ever  boast  the  character 
of  their  Father ;  and  as  that  father  has  some  few  in  the 
upper  ranks  of  life  to  whom  he  is  peculiarly  indebted,  or 
whom  he  holds  peculiarly  dear,  he  wishes  his  children  like- 
wise to  indulge  an  honest  pride  on  that  account ;  and  not 
only  as  a  memento  of  these  honors  their  father  enjoyed, 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      233 


but  as  an  incentive  to  noble  action,  he  will  call  his  children 
after  the  names  of  his  illustrious  friends  and  benefactors. 
I  intend,  Madam,  as  first  at  my  heart,  to  begin  with  your 
honored  name ;  and  my  first  child  shall  be  Frances  Wallace 
or  F.  Dunlop  as  you  please,  for  really  I  dare  not  venture 
on  the  whole  list  of  your  appellations. 

As  for  Mr.  Graham's  letter,  Madam,  it  is  of  a  piece  with 
your  usual  goodness,  and  is  what  I  highly  approve  of;  only 
when  I  tell  you  the  narrative  of  my  situation,  plans  in  life, 
etc.,  you  will  see  the  propriety  of  altering  the  scope  of 
your  epistle.  The  latter  part  indeed  of  that  epistle  is  what 
in  no  situation  I  could  think  on :  I  have  marked  in  the 
epistle  itself,  where  that  part  begins. 

You  remember.  Madam,  I  had  two  plans  of  life  before 
me ;  the  Excise  and  farming.  I  thought,  by  the  glimmer- 
ing of  my  own  prudence,  the  Excise  was  my  most  eligible 
scheme  ;  but  all  my  Great  friends,  and  particularly  you, 
were  decidedly,  and  therefore  decided  me,  for  farming. 
My  master,  Mr.  Miller,  out  of  real  tho'  mistaken  benevo- 
lence, sought  me  industriously  out,  to  set  me  this  farm,  as 
he  said  to  give  me  a  lease  that  would  make  me  comfortable 
and  easy.  I  was  a  stranger  to  [the]  country,  the  farm  and 
the  soil,  and  so  ventured  on  a  bargain,  that  instead  of 
being  comfortable,  is  and  will  be  a  very,  very  hard  bar- 
gain, if  at  all  practicable.  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  this, 
Madam,  but  it  is  a  damning  truth ;  though  I  beg,  as  the 
world  think  that  I  have  got  a  pennyworth  of  a  farm,  you 
will  not  undeceive  them.  To  bring  myself  about,  I  thought 
of  getting  an  Excise  Division  in  the  midst  of  which  I  live, 
and  this  was  what  took  me  last  to  Edinburgh ;  but  there  are 
in  the  Excise-Board  certain  regulations  which,  notwith- 
standing Mr.   Graham's  warmest  exertions,  baffled  all  my 


2  34  Correspondence  between 

hopes.  By  Mr.  Creech,  who  has  at  last  settled  amicably 
and  fully  as  fairly  as  could  have  been  expected,  with  me,  I 
clear  about  ;^440  or  ^450.^  To  keep  my  brother  from  ruin, 
and  scattering  my  aged  parent  and  three  sisters  comfortless 
in  the  world,  I  advanced  him  about  ;^2  0o  of  that  money : 
this  you  know  was  an  indispensible  affair,  as  their  wellbeing  is 
certainly  to  me  the  same  as  my  own.  What  money  rests  for 
myself,  you  will  guess  is  too  little  for  my  own  stock  ;  but  my 
Master  allows  me  some  money  to  build  and  inclose,  and  with 
that  I  could  have  done  —  if  the  farm  would  have  done. 

But  to  close  this  tedious  epistle,  and  to  give  you  some- 
thing more  comfortable  in  my  views ;  my  brother's  lease  is 
near  expiring,  he  may  be  able  to  live  by  my  lease,  as  he 
can  with  propriety  do  things  that  I  now  can  not  do ;  I  will 
plant  him  in  this  farm  and  throw  myself  on  the  Excise  at 
large,  where  I  am  sure  of  immediate  and  constant  bread. 

Let  these  matters  lie  between  you  and  I  only. 

As  for  your  writing  Mr.  Graham,  it  is  what  pleases  me 
above  all  things ;  but  no  plans  in  it  if  you  please ;  I  wish 
him  to  know  how  I  labour  under  a  sense  of  his  goodness, 
and,  if  you  will,  your  thanks  to  him  for  his  kindness  to  a 
man  in  whose  welfare  you  have  interested  yourself:  and  if 
you  give  them  a  little  different  turn,  now  that  you  know  my 
situation,  send  the  verses  above  all  things. 

Now  I  talk  of  verses,  I  own  your  criticism  on  my  emen- 
dation of  your  line  to  be  just ;  but  one  thing.  Madam,  has 
escaped  your  attention.  "  Envy,"  either  a  noun  or  verb, 
is  accented  on  the  first  syllable,  consequently  the  word 
cannot  well  close  your  line. 

Forgive  this  miserable  scrawl.  —  I  have  the  honor  to  be. 
Madam,  your  oblidged  friend  and  very  humble  servt. 

RoBT.  Burns. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      235 


If  you  write  Mr.  Graham,  his  address  is,  George  Street, 
Edinr.  I  must  not  seem  to  know  any  thing  of  the  matter, 
so  let  it  just  go  by  the  nearest  Post-Office.  R.  B. 

(i)  This  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  poet's  letter 
to  Dr.  Moore  of  4th  January,  in  which  he  said  he 
believed  he  should  clear  about  ^400  some  little  odds, 
including  the  result  of  the  settlement  still  pending, 
and  it  can  be  made  to  agree  with  Currie's  statement 
that  the  whole  profits  of  the  edition  were  ^^500. 

From  the  letter  that  follows  we  learn  for  the  first 
time  that  Robert  Burns  might,  had  his  inclination  and 
the  good  will  of  a  patron  chimed  in,  have  been  a  pro- 
fessor in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  Mrs.  Dunlop 
pressed  him  hard  to  become  an  applicant  for  the  new 
chair,  the  foundation  of  which  is  related  below,  and 
through  her  and  Dr.  Moore  his  name  was  brought 
before  the  patron.  It  does  not,  however,  appear  that 
the  poet  ever  seriously  thought  of  applying  for  the 
post.  He  at  first  doubted  the  feasibility  of  the  pro- 
ject, and  finally  in  July  expressed  his  obligation  to  his 
two  friends  for  their  exertions  on  his  behalf,  but  said 
that  he  knew  the  professorship  was  to  him  an  unat- 
tainable object. 

Ad.  Mr.  RoBT.  Burns, 

Elliesland,  Dumfries.  1st  April  17S9. 

[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinr.,  Third  April  1789.] 

Dr.  Sir,  —  Your  boy  called  here  one  morning  before  I 

was  well  out  of  bed.     I,  however,  regretted  not  seeing  him 

the  less  as  Will  Mure  told  me  he  was  not  directly  returning. 


236  Correspondence  between 

and  my  knowing  I  could  send  my  letter  post-free  hindered 
me  from  being  very  earnest  about  writing  by  him ;  so  I  did 
not  detain  him,  understanding  he  had  some  Uttle  business  in 
the  neighbourhood.  Indeed  I  should  have  been  vext  to 
think  he  had  walked  from  Kilmarnock  with  a  letter  which  I 
should  have  had  next  day  by  post  at  any  rate.  It  was  mak- 
ing the  poor  boy  pay  too  dear  for  my  pleasure ;  yet  when  I 
saw  how  much  it  contained  of  your  private  concerns,  I  less 
grudged  his  walk.  Assure  yourself  I  shall  not  mention  what 
you  tell  me,  or  broach  any  plan  that  can  hurt  you  either  in 
interest  or  happiness,  by  hinting  it  to  any  body  but  yourself. 
As  for  forming  schemes,  it  is  a  kind  of  castle-building  that 
I  cannot  resign,  as  it  pleases  myself  and  does  little  harm  to 
any  thing  else.  I  am,  however,  truly  vext  to  think  I  have 
ever  given  my  opinion  where  you  don't  find  it  answer  either 
your  ideas  or  mine.  However,  remember  it  was  respecta- 
bility, not  wealth,  was  my  object ;  and  my  sentiments  are 
still  the  same  spite  of  the  event.  Yet  I  own  my  feeling  is 
painful,  and  something  similar  to  that  of  having  a  child  die 
of  the  inoculation.  I  mourn  both,  but  repent  neither. 
Providence  always  sends  some  consolation ;  where  do  you 
beheve  I  find  it  at  present?  Just  in  the  very  circumstance 
that  ought  to  grieve  me  most,  in  the  pride  of  knowing  any 
opinion  of  mine  could  for  a  moment  influence  your  supe- 
riour  judgement.  I  feel  pleased  even  at  the  very  time  when 
I  discover  my  advice  has  been  unfortunate,  a  sure  proof 
generosity  is  not  the  strongest  point  of  my  character,  tho' 
't  is  the  first  time  I  ever  found  out  or  suspected  it  was 
vanity.  I  can  hardly  still  think  it  so  ;  I  rather  impute  it  to 
the  pleasure  of  esteeming  you  now  more  than  I  could  ever 
have  done  had  you  at  once  plunged  eagerly  into  a  profes- 
sion where,  although  I  must  follow  an  old  friend,  I  could 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      237 

never  have  thought  of  looking  for  a  new  one.  The  very 
thing  you  suggest  about  your  brother  struck  me  before,  and 
I  one  day  mentioned  it  in  the  idea  of  instabihty  and  want 
of  application  being  frequently  too  close  companions  of 
genius.  The  gentleman  to  whom  I  was  speaking  replied  — 
How  could  I  think  of  that?  If  the  bargain  was  a  good  one, 
conferred  as  a  personal  favour,  was  it  generous  to  assume  a 
right  of  transferring  it  to  one  for  whom  it  was  never  meant  ? 
If  it  was  bad,  't  was  unjust  and  inhuman  to  throw  it  on  a 
friend.  I  made  no  answer.  I  leave  it  to  your  animadver- 
sions to  fix  a  proper  one,  as  I  know  no  mind  more  decisive 
or  more  manly  in  its  determinations.  Do  not  think  I  ever 
miscalculate  your  motives  in  any  thing.  I  always  refer 
them  to  the  very  best  native  workings  of  a  good  heart  and 
a  sound,  lincorrupted  understanding.  If  I  ever  under-rate 
them,  it  is  for  want  of  sublimity  in  myself  to  reach  the 
height  to  which  your  eagle  fancy  may  soar.  I  may  some- 
times, notwithstanding,  blame,  or  at  least  differ  from  your 
way  of  thinking,  and  reprobate  it  as  romantically  disinter- 
ested, but  never  as  sordid  or  mean.  I  am  incapable  of 
misconstruing  the  compliment  you  pay  me,  tho'  I  would 
even  sacrifice  it  rather  than  hurt  the  little  one,  if  by  this 
resignation  it  might  gain  a  better  friend  than  it  can  ever 
hope  in  me.  I  am  sorry  when  you  bid  me  chuse,  to  quit  the 
appellation  of  my  husband ;  yet  I  think  the  son  of  a  Poet 
must  be  Wallace.  You  will  remember  it  is  long  since  I  told 
you  you  would  make  that  name  live  five  hundred  years  longer, 
tho'  I  am  sure  I  did  not  dream  of  this  method  of  bringing  it 
about,  which  confers  an  honour  upon  me  beyond  my  ex- 
pectation or  desert,  but  of  which  I  feel  the  full  value.  I 
cannot  allow  you  to  speak  of  gratitude,  unless  you  mean  on 
my  side,  who  have  ever  been  the  obliged  party.     You  have 


238  Correspondence  between 

allowed  me  to  engross  a  portion  of  your  time  and  attention 
that  was  material  to  me  and  to  yourself  by  an  intercourse 
which  tended  to  rouse   my  then  vacant  mind,  flatter  my 
self-love,  and  always  afford  me  a  lively  pleasure.     You  have 
indulged  me   in  scribbling  long  letters,  and  knowing  you 
would  answer  them,  as  if  the  correspondence  had  been  as 
great  an  acquisition  to  you  as  I  found  it  to  myself;  and 
this  at  a  time  when  your  more  knowing  friends  were  telling 
you  it  was  a  loss,  and  that  all  private  letters  were  waste  of 
genius   and   trifling   ones  inexcusable  in  those  who  were 
courted  by  wealth,  rank,  or  science  from  every  comer,  and 
ought  to  be  taken  up  with  nothing  but  their  advancement 
in  fame  or  fortune.     You  have  stuck   by  me  spite  of  all 
these  wise  arguments,  and  placed  me  at  the  head  of  your 
list  of  distinguished  friends  in  preference  to  so  many  proud 
pre-eminencies  that  you  have  taught  me  a  value  I  never 
before  put  upon  precedency.     For  the  little  while  I  have  to 
live  I  trust  I  shall  never  be  shoved  out  of  the  post  of  honour 
to  which  you  direct   my   ambition.     Were  my  lease   long 
enough,  I  should  fear  to  see  you  rich   enough   to  go    to 
London,  that  thick  atmosphere  which  choaks  most  unprofit- 
able regards.     But  I  forgot  that  I  meant  to  bid  you  read 
your  friend  Creech's  advertisement  in  the  Edr.  Courajit  for 
proposals  about  a  professor  of  Agriculture.*     I  would  have 
you  give  this  a  little  serious  attention,  since  I  do  not  beUeve 
there  is  a  man  in  the  kingdom  who  might  so  properly  blend 
the  theoretical  and  practical  knowledge  that   plan  would 
seem  to  require,  and  the  proposal  being  to  be  sent  marked 
with  a  private  motto  and  kept  secret  if  desired,  seemed  to 
me  a  tempting   circumstance,  should  the  situation  on  in- 
quiry prove  convenient,  reputable,  and  such  as  might  be 
held  for  life   or  dropt   as    one    afterwards    found    eligible 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      239 

should  they  please  the  donor,  which  there  appeared  no 
great  risk  in  trying.  Besides,  Edina  would  not  be  so 
irksome  when  one  was  not  from  home  there,  nor  would  a 
grave  member  of  the  College  be  so  oft  the  prey  of  jolly 
Bacchus  as  an  Exciseman,  at  least  against  his  will.  But  if 
you  write  for  any  competition  which  you  would  have  un- 
known, don't  correct  a  single  letter  with  your  own  hand ; 
't  is  as  remarkable  as  the  awns  [beard]  of  a  barleycorn ;  I 
also  ought  to  have  told  you  that  I  lately  saw  your  brother's 
landlord,  the  Nabob.^  I  said  I  wondered  he  had  quit  you 
for  a  tenant.  He  said  he  had  kept  a  much  better  man  for 
his  purpose ;  your  brother  was  a  much  better  farmer,  one 
he  would  really  be  sorry  to  lose,  and  who  had  ten  times 
the  sense  of  you.  I  don't  repeat  this  as  chit-chat,  but  to 
induce  you  to  examine  how  the  land  lies  there  before  you 
fix  on  the  transplantation  purposed.  I  wish  to  God  some- 
body that  could  serve  your  interest  thought  of  it  half  as 
often  as  I  do.  A  poet  is  a  Proteus  which  shows  himself 
in  every  shape.  A  farmer's  house,  a  newspaper  advertise- 
ment, a  book,  a  song,  a  tree,  a  river,  or  a  mountain,  bring 
you  along  with  them  to  my  imagination,  and  becomes  itself 
more  interesting  from  being  so  accompanyed.  I  must 
believe  you  my  friend,  now  that  you  tell  me  my  faults, 
therefore  hear  them  with  more  grateful  pleasure  than  my 
praise,  and  since  I  must  not  quote  Shakspear's  Ail 's  Well 
that  Ends  Well'm  my  favours,  I  avail  myself  of  Broome's  ^  — 

One  line  for  sense  and  one  for  rhyme, 
For  any  man  's  sufficient  at  a  time. 

Being  convicted  I  plead  total  ignorance  of  English  law  with 
regard  to  accent  and  every  part  of  grammar,  nor  can  I  claim 
the  privileges  you  and  others  would  be  allowed,  being  no 


240  Correspondence  between 

licence  as  a  poet.  I  must  just  stand  condemn'd  as  a 
poacher  unless  you  allow  of  this  alteration  in  my  poor  tor- 
tured couplet. 

Congenial  minds  their  partner  shall  approve, 
Nor  ladies  envy  her  they  truly  love. 

Adieu.  I  have  not  room  for  my  name  ;  perhaps  by  now 
you  have  it  at  home  in  the  first  edition.  In  every  one  be- 
lieve it  that  of  a  friend,  with  additions  and  emendations, 
the  growth  of  every  month  of  our  acquaintance.  Will  the 
accommodation  *  stop  the  Poefs  Progress  ?  I  hope  not,  for 
I  am  interested  in  every  step  of  his  road  that  I  have  yet 
seen.  I  am  less  friendly  to  the  Epistle  of  the  Unfortunate 
Lady^  who  writes  very  like  a  man  and  he  no  small  profi- 
cient either.  But  my  family  is  too  large  just  now  for  me  to 
turn  critic.     So  in  honest  Erse  Dieu  vous  benisse  ! 

(i)  Mr,  William  Johnstone  Pulteney,  afterwards 
baronet  of  Westerhall  by  succession  to  his  brother, 
who  had  acquired  the  vast  fortune  of  the  Pulteney 
family  by  his  marriage  with  the  heiress  of  Daniel, 
presented  to  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  through 
the  Town  Council,  of  which  Creech  was  a  member, 
the  sum  of  ^^1250  to  endow  a  Chair  of  Agriculture. 
Pulteney  retained  the  first  presentation  in  his  own 
hands,  and  appointed  in  the  year  1790  Dr.  Andrew 
Coventry  of  Shanwell,  who  filled  the  chair  for  a  great 
many  years.  By  the  terms  of  the  appointment  he  was 
taken  bound  to  deliver  "  a  set  of  Instructions  or  Lec- 
tures on  the  subject  of  Agriculture,  respecting  the 
nature  of  soils  and  manures;  the  modes  of  cultiva- 
tion; the  succession  of  crops;    the  construction    of 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      241 


the  implements  of  husbandry ;  the  best  and  most 
successful  known  practices ;  the  manner  of  instituting 
experiments  to  ascertain  the  effect  of  any  proposed 
practice  in  any  soil  or  climate ;  and  the  best  manner 
of  introducing  or  training  skilful  labourers  and  country 
artificers,  where  these  may  be  wanting." 

(2)  Mossgiel,  which  the  Burnses  leased  from  Gavin 
Hamilton,  as  factor  for  the  Earl  of  Loudoun,  passed 
in  1786  into  the  possession  of  the  neighbouring  pro- 
prietor, Claud  Alexander  of  Ballochmyle,  father  of 
"  The  Bonie  Lass,"  who  had  made  a  fortune  in  India, 
and  in  the  slang  of  the  day  was  therefore  a  nabob. 

(3)  William  Broome  (1689-1745),  Pope's  collabo- 
rator in  the  translation  of  Homer. 

Hibernian  politics,  O  Swift !  thy  doom, 

And  Pope's,  translating  ten  whole  years  with  Broome. 

Dii7iciad. 

(4)  The  final  payment  by  Creech  in  connection 
with  the  1787  edition. 

(5)  The  sketch  (see  antca,  p.  215)  afterwards  in- 
corporated in  "  Passion's  Cry." 

About  this  time  Burns  commenced  his  connection 
with  the  recently  started  first  London  evening  paper, 
Peter  Stuart's,  TJie  Star  and  Evejiing  Advertiser, 
which  took  from  him  the  "  Ode  to  the  Departed 
Regency  Bill,"  then  the  "  Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Mrs. 
Oswald  of  Auchencruive,"  the  "New  Psalmody"  for 
Kilmarnock  Chapel,  etc.  It  will  be  noted  that  from 
the  start  the  poet  appreciated  the  risk  he  ran  in  mix- 

VOL.  I. — 16 


242  Correspondence  between 

ing  himself  up  with  poHtics.  The  Regency  Bill  was 
of  course  introduced  by  Pitt,  on  George  the  Third's 
first  attack  of  madness,  conferring  the  regency  on  the 
Prince  of  Wales  with  certain  restrictions  which  were 
denounced  by  Fox  and  the  Prince's  friends. 

Mrs.  DuNLOP  of  Dunlop, 
Dunlop  House,  Stewarton. 

Ellisland,  -yd  April  1789. 

Dear  Madam,  —  I  have  this  moment  finished  the  following 
political  Squib,  and  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  sending 
you  a  copy  of  it  —  the  only  copy  indeed  that  I  will  send  to 
any  body,  except  perhaps  anonymously  to  some  London 
Newspaper.  Politics  is  dangerous  ground  for  me  to  tread 
on,  and  yet  I  cannot  for  the  soul  of  me  resist  an  impulse  of 
any  thing  like  Wit. 

ODE   TO   THE   DEPARTED    REGENCY   BILL. 

Daughter  of  Chaos'  doting  years  1 
Nurse  of  ten  thousand  hopes  and  fears  I 
Whether  thy  airy,  unsubstantial  shade 
(The  rites  of  sepulture  now  duly  paid  ;) 
Spread  abroad  its  hideous  form 
On  the  roaring  civil-storm  ; 
Deafening  din,  and  warring  rage, 

Factions  wild  with  factions  wage  : 

Or  under  ground,  deep-sunk,  profound, 
Among  the  demons  of  the  earth, 

With  groans  that  make  the  mountains  shake, 
Thou  mourn  thy  ill-starred,  blighted  birth : 

Or  in  the  uncreated  void. 

Where  seeds  of  future-being  fight, 

With  lightened  step  thou  wander  wide, 
To  greet  thy  mother  ancient  night; 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      243 


And  as  each  jarring,  monster  mass  is  past, 
Fond  recollect  what  once  thou  wast : 
In  manner  due,  beneath  this  sacred  oak, 
Hear,  Spirit,  hear !  thy  presence  I  invoke  1 

By  a  Monarch's  heaven-struck  fate  ! 
By  a  disunited  State ! 
By  a  GENEROUS  Prince's  wrongs  I 
By  a  Senate's  war  of  tongues ! 
By  Opposition's  eager  hand, 
Grasping  at  an  airy  wand ! 
By  a  premier's  sullen  pride, 
Louring  on  the  changing  tide ! 
By  dread  Th-rl-w's  powers  to  awe, 
Rhetoric,  Blasph-my,  and  Law  1 
By  the  turbulent  ocean, 
A  Nation's  commotion  1 
By  the  harlot  caresses 
Of  Borough  Addresses  ! 
By  days  few  and  evil ! 
Thy  portion,  poor  devil ! 
By  Power,  Wealth,  Show !  the  gods  by  men  adored ; 
By  nameless  Poverty  !  their  hell  abhorred  : 
By  all  they  hope  !     By  all  they  fear  1 
Hear  !     And  appear  ! 
Stare  not  on  me,  thou  ghostly  Power ! 
Nor  grim  with  chained  defiance  lour ! 
No  Babel-structure  would  I  build. 

Where,  Order  exiled  from  his  regal  sway. 
Confusion  may  the  Regent  Sceptre  wield, 

While  all  would  rule  — and  none  obey. — 
Go  !  to  the  world  of  man  relate 
The  story  of  thy  strange,  eventful  fate : 
And  call  presumptuous  Hope  to  hear, 
And  bid  him  check  his  blind  career ; 
And  tell  the  sore-vexed  sons  of  Care, 
Never,  never  to  despair  ! 
Paint  Charles's  speed,  on  wings  of  fire. 
The  object  of  his  fond  desire 


244  Correspondence  between 


Beyond  his  boldest  hopes  at  hand : 

Paint  all  the  triumph  of  the  Prtl-nd-band  ; 

Mark,  how  they  seem  to  lift  th'  elated  voice ! 

And  who  are  these  that  in  their  joy  rejoice? 
Jews,  Gentiles,  what  a  motely  crew  ! 
Their  iron  tears  of  joy  their  flinty  cheeks  bedew ; 
See,  how  unfurled  their  parchment  ensigns  fly, 
And,  PRINCIPAL  and  interest!  all  the  cry. — 
But  just  as  hopes  to  warm  enjoyment  rise, 
Cry,  CONVALESCENCE  !  and  the  vision  flies. — 

Then  next  pourtray  a  darkening,  twilight  gloom, 

Eclipsing,  sad,  a  gay  rejoicing  morn, 
While  proud  ambition  to  th'  untimely  tomb 

By  gnashing,  grim,  despairing  fiends  is  borne ! 
Paint  RUIN,  in  the  shape  of  high  DuND 

Gaping  with  giddy  terror  o'er  the  brow  : 
In  vain  he  struggles  —  the  Fates  behind  him  press, 
And  clamorous  hell  yawns  for  her  prey  below  ! 
How  fallen  That,  whose  pride  late  scaled  the  skies !  !  ! 
And  This,  like  Lucifer,  no  more  to  rise !  !  ! 

Again  pronounce  the  powerful  word : 
See  Day,  triumphant  from  the  night,  restored. 

Then  know  these  truths,  ye  sons  of  men 
(Thus  end  thy  moral  tale). 
Your  darkest  terrors  may  be  vain, 
Your  brightest  hopes  may  fail. 

I  have  this  moment  an  opportunity  of  sending  this  to 
Post,  so  can  no  more  —  not  even  review  the  past.     R.  B. 

In  the  collection  of  Mr.  R.  B.  Adam  of  Buffalo, 
there  is  a  MS.  of  this  poem  dated  17th  March  1789. 
The  Ode  was  published  in  the  London  Star  of  17th 
April,  dated  Edinburgh  the  7th,  and  signed  "  Agri- 
cola."  Burns  told  Lady  Harriet  Don  that  it  was 
"  mangled  in  a  newspaper."     Probably  Stuart,   the 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      245 

editor,  struck  out  of  the  MS.  sent  him  hnes  59-62, 
"  Jews,  Gentiles,"  etc.,  modified  the  two  preceding 
hnes  to  cover  the  omission,  and  made  verbal  changes 
in  lines  53  and  56.  In  the  copy  made  for  Captain 
Riddel  lines  25  and  26  were  omitted. 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 

Dunlop  House,  Stewarton. 

Ellisland,  2\st  April  1789. 

My  honored  Friend,  —  If  you  knew  my  present  hurry  of 
building,  planning,  planting,  ploughing,  sowing,  etc.  etc.,  you 
would  give  me  great  credit  for  this  sheet-ful,  if  I  live  in  leis- 
ure to  fill  it.  Every  minute  has  five  minutes'  business  to  do, 
and  every  crown  has  a  twenty-shilling  errand  to  run.  I  have 
just  got  a  reading  of  some  books  I  wanted  much ;  and  a 
parcel  of  poems,  now  in  the  current  of  subscription,  have 
given  me,  and  daily  give  me,  a  world  of  trouble  in  revising 
them.  They  are  hopeless  trash ;  but  the  authoress  is  a 
poor  young  creature  whose  forefathers  have  seen  better 
days ;  for  which  consideration  I  submit  to  the  horrid  drudg- 
ery. I  have  over  and  above,  the  3d  vol.  of  the  Scots  Songs 
^Miiseunf^  among  my  hands,  among  which  will  appear 
some  delectable  pieces  of  my  Muse's  dreams. 

Two  mornings  ago  as  I  was,  at  a  very  early  hour,  sowing 
in  the  fields,  I  heard  a  shot,  and  presently  a  poor  little  hare 
limped  by  me,  apparently  very  much  hurt.  You  will  easily 
guess,  this  set  my  humanity  in  tears  and  my  indignation  in 
arms.  The  following  was  the  result,  which  please  read  to 
the  young  ladies  —  I  believe  you  may  include  the  Major, 
too ;  as  whatever  I  have  said  of  shooting  hares,  I  have  not 
spoken  one  irreverend  word  against  coursing  them.  This 
is,  according  to  your  just  right,  the  very  first  copy  I  wrote. 


246  Correspondence  between 

ON   SEEING  A   FELLOW   WOUND  A   HARE   WITH 

A   SHOTi 

Inhuman  man  !  curse  on  thy  barbarous  art, 

And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye  ! 

May  never  Pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh, 
Nor  ever  Pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart  I 

Go  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field, 
The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  : 
No  more  the  thickening  brakes  or  verdant  plains 

To  thee,  or  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield. 

Seek,  mangled  innocent,  some  wonted  form  ; 
That  wonted  form,  alas  !  thy  dying  bed. 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head, 

The  cold  earth  with  thy  blood-stained  bosom  warm. 

Perhaps  a  mother's  anguish  adds  its  woe. 

The  playful  Pair  croud  fondly  by  thy  side  ; 

Ah,  little  Nurslings !  who  will  now  provide 
That  life,  a  Mother  only  can  bestow ! 

Oft  as  by  winding  Nith  I,  musing,  wait 

The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  chearful  dawn, 

I  '11  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy  lawn, 
And  curse  the  ruthless  wretch,  and  mourn  thy  hapless  fate. 

It  would  truly  oblidge  me,  to  have  your  opinion  of  the 
foregoing.  I  must  take  some  other  opportunity  to  answer 
the  particulars  of  your  last.  I  beheve  the  Professorship  yoti 
mention  will  be  an  idle  project ;  but  whatever  it  may  be,  I, 
or  such  as  I,  am  quite  out  of  the  question. 

You  are  rather  premature  on  me  in  expecting  your  name- 
child  so  soon.  In  about  two  months,  I  hope  to  tell  you 
another  story.  By  the  way,  should  I  have  a  boy,  will  you 
honor  him  with  the  appellation,  or  will  you  wait  a  girl? 
You  see,  I  am  set  in  for  trade.  I  wish  I  had  lived  of  Jok- 
tan,^  in  whose  days,  says  Moses,  the   earth  was  divided. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     247 


Then,  a  partriarchal  fellow  like  me  might  have  been  the 
father  of  a  nation. 

But  even  in  that  case  I  should  have  been  a  loser  if  I  had 
then  been  denied  the  happiness  and  honor  of  subscribing 
myself,  Dr.  Madam,  your  oblidged  friend  and  humble 
servt.  RoBT.  Burns. 

(i)  The  draft  in  the  letter  of  4th  May  to  Alexander 
Cunnincrham  is  the  earliest  hitherto  known.  Both  it 
and  the  version  in  the  text  dififer  in  several  places 
from,  and  have  one  verse  more  than  the  poem  as 
it  was  adjusted  to  Dr.  Gregory's  criticism. 

(2)  Joktan  was  of  the  children  of  Shem,  and  begot 
thirteen  sons.     See  Gen.  x.  25. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

EUisland,  Dumfries.  2yd  April  1789. 

[Franked  by  Kerr :  Edinburgh,  Sixth  May  17S9.] 

Dr.  Sir,  —  This  is  the  feast  or  fast  for  the  recovery  of 
our  King.^  I  say  with  all  my  heart  —  Thy  will  be  done  ! 
For  on  this  subject  I  have  no  will  of  my  own ;  my  very 
wishes  are  lost  in  immensity  or  buried  in  profound  ig- 
norance, and  I  am  ready  with  the  implicit  faith  of  indiffer- 
ence to  believe  what  is  is  best.  But  I  am  not  well ;  my 
spirits  are  contracted,  and  everything  around  me  on  too 
large  a  scale  for  my  present  enjoyment.  My  house  is  so 
big  I  can  see  but  one  end  of  it ;  my  company  so  numerous 
I  can  hear  none  of  them  for  the  noise  of  the  rest ;  my  very 
devotion,  inadequate  to  the  occasion,  embraces  only  a  very 
few  friends,  for  whom  indeed  my  sincere  good  wishes  never 
fail  to  arise  with  the  dawning  light,  and  to  contribute  to 
their  accomplishment  would  be  all  the  Heaven  I  would  ask 
upon  earth.     Yet  it  is  more  than  I  fear  will  ever  be  granted 


248  Correspondence  between 

me,  nor  can  I  learn  to  be  contented  without  it,  and  perform 
that  first  of  all  duties  to  fill  quietly  our  appointed  post,  and 
never  let  will-o'-the-wisp  wishes  tempt  us  to  repine  at  what 
we  cannot  better  but  may  often  mar  by  those  indifferent 
efforts  which  jostle  us  out  of  the  ranks  and  hurt  both  our 
cause  and  ourselves.  This  length  mortified  pride  had  made 
me  peevish ;  I  expected  a  letter  and  missed  it.  I  dare  say 
I  found  much  better,  for  I  have  just  got  yours,  and  will 
forget  every  thing  disagreeable  for  that  which  always  gives 
me  pleasure.  My  soul,  before  as  inanimate  as  this  drizzly 
day,  brightens  to  a  gleam  of  sunshine,  and,  if  not  reason, 
recollection  and  rhyme  may  once  more  befriend  me,  and  fill 
up  my  blank  sheet  as  well  as  my  void  intellects,  which  were 
wholly  asleep  till  roused  by  the  welcome  sight  of  your  hand 
—  the  only  one  almost  that  never  fails  for  some  minutes  at 
least  to  brush  off  the  dust  and  cobwebs  gathered  round  an 
indolent,  inactive  mind,  good  for  nothing  to  others  or  itself. 
This  were  an  overwhelming  idea,  but  your  friendship  gives 
the  lie  to  it,  and  tells  me  I  am  still  something,  since  I 
possess  what  the  proudest  of  the  land  in  vain  may  envy.  I 
shall  do  what  few  Nabobs  can,  feel  truly  happy  in  my 
wealth,  without  examining  too  curiously  whether  I  owe  it  to 
conquest,  or  if  it  constitute  the  only  remaining  inheritance 
from  my  ancestors.  The  last  would  please  my  vanity ;  the 
first  gratify  my  self-love.  Meantime  I  find  food  for  both  in 
the  compliment  Dr.  Moore  and  you  pay  me  in  naming  your 
sons  for  me,  especially  yours,  where  the  surname  makes  it 
unequivocal,  and  there  being  no  relation  to  prompt  the 
distinction  must  make  me  regard  it  as  the  more  peculiar 
mark  of  goodwill,  and  of  that  degree  of  esteem  I  dare  not 
flatter  myself  I  can  ever  deserve,  unless  by  feeling  the  true 
value  of  it,  which  I  beg  you  may  give  me  full  credit  for. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      249 

I  am  assured  the  professorship  is  unappropriated,  even 
in  idea.  It  is  endowed  by  Mr.  Poultney.  I  wish  to  God 
he  thought  of  both  you  and  it  as  I  do,  and  it  would  be 
yours,  at  least  if  you  wish  it  should  be  so ;  but  perhaps  you 
would  have  an  aversion  to  it.  We  are  subject  sometimes 
to  strange  dislikes.  I  know  a  friend  of  yours  who  feels 
always  something  come  over  her  heart  like  the  cold  fit  of  an 
ague  every  time  she  thinks  of  a  pert  Exciseman,  nor  is  this 
an  inexplicable  matter  to  me,  for  I  have  a  kind  of  antipa- 
thy myself  at  cats,  so  that  there  is  only  one  of  the  whole 
race  I  can  endure.  She  indeed  is  a  fine  little  creature,  and 
quite  a  favourite ;  she  cannot  cry,  and  is  the  very  reverse 
of  the  rest  of  the  species.  But  you  know  it  has  long  been 
said  "  No  rule  without  an  exception,"  and  I  must  confess  I 
have  seen  already  more  than  one  among  Excisemen  who, 
like  modest  Irishmen,  were  always  wondered  at,  and  almost 
regarded  like  the  good  Bishop  of  Marseilles,  who  had 
escaped  all  the  contagion  of  the  plague.  You  bid  me  tell 
you  my  opinion  of  the  "  Hare."  It  was  thrice  read  in  the 
circle,  and  more  liked  every  time  than  the  first.  Had  it 
been  any  hand  but  yours,  I  don't  know  if  I  had  done  it  so 
much  justice,  for  I  don't  like  the  measure,  which  to  my 
ears  feels  cramp  and  unnatural,  and  prevents  my  following 
the  thought  smoothly.  I  feel  as  Sterne  did  driving  hard 
on  rough  road,  I  think  when  he  left  Maria  or  the  dead  ass ; 
I  don't  know  which,  but  it  would  do  for  either.  The 
thoughts  are  beautifully  tender,  spite  of  your  cursing  as 
heartily  as  a  Jewish  judge  when  all  the  people  said  Amen. 
But  what  struck  me  most  was  "  Go  live  the  bitter  little  that 
of  life  remains,"  etc.  The  whole  recalled  the  remembrance 
of  a  dead  seal-fish  I  once  saw  with  two  young  ones  sucking, 
and  I  tryed  to  throw  my  fancy  into  the  very  form  that  I 


250  Correspondence  between 

felt  murder  your's,  so  natural  it  is  to  imitate  or  rather  be 
imperceptibly  led  by  those  we  admire,  even  where  we  ad- 
mire them  least.     This  was  the  produce  :  — 

No  agonies  now  rend  thy  bursting  heart, 
Thy  lifeless  young  fix't  at  the  ebbing  flood ; 
Cold  death  coagulates  thy  milk  and  blood. 

Convulsive  starts  no  longer  pangs  impart. 

So  petrified  by  pride  to  Parian  stone 

On  some  mock  marble  sculptur'd  orphans  show, 
Meagre  and  cold  !  that  vain  parade  of  woe 

Swells  not  the  heart  like  simple  Nature's  groan. 

I  wonder  at  the  ease  (impudence  I  fear  any  body  else 
would  call  it)  with  which  I  scribble  all  my  nonsense  to 
you,  as  a  child  would  scratch  mathematical  schemes  to  Sir 
Isaak  Newton,  had  it  happened  to  find  a  bit  of  chalk  on 
his  desk.  Sir  Isaak  was  a  good  man,  and  would  have  set 
all  soon  to  rights  again  with  his  pocket-handkerchief;  so 
may  you  by  lighting  your  pipe  —  should  you  ever  have 
the  toothach  as  I  have  had  this  month  bypast  —  with  my 
verses ;  for  remember  I  positively  prohibit  your  giving 
them  to  the  maid  to  make  broaches,  or  any  of  those  kind 
of  uses  that  would  subject  me  to  be  laughed  at  by  any  body 
but  yourself  Meantime  I  wish  our  convicts  at  Botany 
Bay  may  trade  to  the  same  purpose,  and  get  valuable  com- 
modities for  their  iron  nails,  glass  beads,  etc.  etc.,  as  I  do 
when  you  send  me  your  compositions  in  exchange  —  nay, 
not  only  copies,  but  the  proof-prints  new  from  the  mint, 
what  money  can  never  henceforth  buy,  and  even  tell  me 
you  think  these  my  just  right.  I  wish  from  the  bottom  of  my 
soul  you  may  ever  find  a  friend  worthy  of  your  gratitude, 
for  it  surely  would  be  extreme  when  you  repay  me  so  richly 
for,  I  dare  say,  often  trying  your  patience,  and  exhausting 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      251 


it  too,  while  I  was  really  indulging  myself  more  than  I  had 
it  in  my  power  to  do  in  any  other  way  whatever.  When 
you  read  this,  don't  lower  like  the  Premier  o'er  the 
"changing  tide  "  ^  —  a  beautiful,  fine  image  as  I  see  it 
reflected  in  the  clear  mirror  of  my  ruling  star,  for  such  I 
greet  the  new  poetic  constellation  which  may  perhaps 
hereafter  be  called,  like  the  one  in  the  heavens,  the 
"something  Georgius "  \_Georgi2im  Sidus'],  though  I 
believe  the  Cuer-Carw  would  have  been  more  proper; 
apropos  to  which,  in  some  lines  you  saw  lately  I  intended 
writing,  after  giving  "  every  Stuart  his  due,"  ^  by  way  of 
an  additional  cause  for  doing  so,  this  couplet  — 

E'er  since  in  early  youth  (unknown)  he  trode 
With  worth  and  learning  Catrine's  loved  abode. 

Apropos  to  which  again  I  must  tell  you  I  lately  met  a  fine 
young  fellow,  clever,  well-principled,  good-hearted,  and 
proudly  independent  of  spirit,  but  the  world  says  mad,  and 
I  am  not  sure  if  they  are  wholly  mistaken.  He  did  some- 
thing out  of  the  common  road,  and  I  gave  him  your 
"  Epitaph  of  a  Bard  "  to  read.  He  was  so  pleased  with 
it  I  made  him  a  present  of  the  book.  He  said  he  was 
ashamed  to  see  but  one  of  his  name  among  the  subscrip- 
tions. "  I  suppose  yours  will  grace  his  next  publication," 
replied  I.  Says  he,  "  I  had  an  old  grand-uncle,  who  told 
great  lies,  not  to  be  believed  but  laughed  at.  He  told  us 
one  day  Old  George  was  not  dead  nor  planting  cabbage  at 
Hanover.  Where  was  he  then?  'One  day,'  says  he,  'I 
was  marching  our  Regt.  (Scots  Dutch)  to  the  parade 
at  the  Hague.  A  fellow  called  me  from  a  gin-shop.  I 
did  not  chuse  the  men  should  see  I  could  drink,  but 
when  they  dismist  I  returned  to  the  little,  fat,  red-faced 


252  Correspondence  between 

landlord,  and  asked  how  he  knew  me.  "  Lord  Arthur,"  says 
he,  "don't  you  know  George  Guelph?  I  keep  this  gin- 
shop  ;  it 's  a  hundred  times  better  than  to  be  King ;  won't 
you  give  me  your  custome?"  "Shake  hands,"  says  I; 
"  you  're  a  d — d  honest  fellow  —  I  '11  not  only  come 
myself,  but  I  '11  fetch  the  whole  regt."  '  And  I,"  added 
my  guest,  "will  not  only  subscribe  myself,  but  fetch  my 
whole  clan,  and  a  pretty  numerous  one  they  are."  We  had 
some  more  chat  about  you,  and  it  was  he  told  me  about 
the  professorship  being  unengaged,  so  after  the  company 
parted  it  run  in  my  head,  and  I  wrot  what  you  shall  have 
in  another  sheet  as  if  addrest  to  Creech. 

FRAGMENT 

See  these  subscriptions  ;  view  the  ample  scroll ! 
Like  Death's  mixt  legends  that  contain  the  whole. 
What  mighty  hands  from  distant  lands  unfurled, 
Seem  to  announce  him  Laureate  for  the  World  I 
Sated  with  conquest,  tired  of  public  view, 
His  independent  hand  now  grasps  the  plough. 


While  through  the  records  of  old  Time  you  pry. 
Ages  and  nations  open'd  to  your  eye ; 
Great  Source  of  Learning !  I  appeal  to  you, 
If  he  who  holds  the  pen  and  guides  the  plough, 
Fir'd  by  ambition,  sedulously  aims 
To  form  her  mind  and  fertilize  her  plains : 
Is  not  the  man  by  Nature's  hand  design'd 
To  frame  her  labours  useful  and  refin'd  ? 
To  make  old  Agriculture  joyous  smile, 
And  force  forth  plenty  from  a  rigid  soil.'' 
To  add  strong  Practice  to  that  classic  lore 
By  Theory  mangled  in  our  schools  before .'' 

This  is  a  very  late  spring,  but  spite  of  the  cold  the  daisies 
begin  to  rise ;  yet  my  hopes  of  seeing  you  are  not  bloom- 
ing. I  rather  almost  despair  of  ever  having  that  pleasure 
again ;    yet,  as  you  once   told  me   you   meant   to  be  in 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      253 


Ayrshire  about  this  time,  it  would  have  vext  me  to  leave 
it,  which  I  was  greatly  importuned  to  do,  two  days  ago, 
when  two-  of  my  daughters  went  for  some  weeks  to  Edin- 
burgh. Should  you  arrive,  you  would  just  find  me  at  the 
old  trade  making  another  grandchild's  cap.  I  suppose  you 
won't,  however,  leave  Mrs.  Bums  till  the  strangers  are 
introduced,  and  she  well  again.  You  ask  if  I  am  for  a 
son  or  a  daughter.  I  shall  be  thankful,  as  the  saying  is,  for 
whatever  God  sends,  nor  say,  like  the  greedy  Bishop  of 
Bath  and  Wells —  "  Baith 's  best."  I  hear  Dr.  Moore 
is  publishing  a  novel,  but  I  don't  know  the  name  or  nature 
of  it.  I  am  also  told  he  is  printing  a  tragedy  —  I  mean  a 
play — for  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  one  it  is  neither.  A 
man  is  lost  at  London,  at  least  much  lost;  to  me  it  has 
been  a  fatal  whirlpool,  that  has  sucked  in  several  of  my 
friends  who  now  inhabit  about  Westminster  Abbey.  But 
what  is  as  bad,  those  who  escape  that  are  so  crowded  one 
is  squeezed  out  of  their  head,  tho'  I  ought  not  to  say  so  of 
the  Dr.,  who  never  in  his  life  has  forgot  me  where  he  could 
serve,  though  frequently  when  he  might  have  pleased  me 
much  by  his  remembrance.  Dr.  Burns,  if  you  have,  as  I 
hope  you  have,  my  happiness  much  at  heart,  just  reverse 
this  mode,  for  my  spirit,  proud  and  independent  like  your 
own,  leads  me  to  prefer  being  pleased  and  flattered  to  the 
most  material  service  I  could  receive.  Happy  is  it  for  me 
if  this  is  also  your  way  of  thinking,  since  it  is  my  pride  that 
I  have  been  hitherto  enabled  sometimes  to  please  you, 
whereas,  with  all  the  wish  in  the  world,  it  is  beyond  my 
most  sanguine  hope  that  it  should  ever  be  in  my  power  to 
be  of  the  most  insignificant  service  to  you.  Every  body 
would  know  your  "Regency  Bill "  were  it  to  appear.  You 
cannot  have  a  child  more  like  the  father,  should  you  have 
twins  every  year  as  long  as  you  live.     I  am,  notwithstand- 


254  Correspondence  between 

ing  the  length  of  this,  almost  as  busie  as  you,  but  my  labours 
aiford  less  pleasant  variety.  I  might  be  sick-nurse  in  some 
hospital,  for  all  my  family  almost  are  sick.  I  am  the  best 
myself,  being  only  distracted  with  the  toothache  two  hours 
every  forenoon,  and  pretty  well  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 
I  dare  not  complain  much  lest  they  tell  me  't  is  a  common 
affectation  in  old  women,  who  would  fain  pretend  to  have 
teeth  after  they  are  all  gone.  Farewell.  May  you  escape 
this  and  all  evils,  and  always  honour  with  your  regard,  Dr. 
Sir,  your  obliged,  humble  servt.  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  Thursday,  23rd  April,  vi^as  appointed  a  day  of 
public  thanksgiving  for  the  recovery  of  George  the 
Third  from  the  mental  derangement  which  was  the 
origin  of  the  Regency  Bill.  This  same  occasion  was 
the  subject  of  Burns's  "  Stanzas  of  Psalmody,"  pub- 
lished in  the  Star,  and  beginning,  "  O,  sing  a  New 
Song  to  the  Lord." 

(2)  "  Ode  to  the  Departed  Regency  Bill." 

(3)  This  cryptic  allusion  is  to  Professor  Dugald 
Stewart. 

The  "  New  Psalm  for  the  Chapel  of  Kilmarnock," 
which  forms  the  first  of  the  poetical  transcripts  in  the 
following  letter,  was  published  in  the  Star  on  14th 
May,  with  the  date  Kilmarnock,  30th  April.  Duncan 
M'Leerie  was  the  hero  of  an  old  Kilmarnock  song. 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Ellisland,  /^th  May  1789. 

You  see.  Madam,  that  I  am  returned  to  my  folio  epistles 

again.     I  no  sooner  hit  on  any  poetic  plan  or  fancy  but  I 

wish  to  send  it  to  you ;  and  if  knowing  and  reading  them 

gives  half  the  pleasure  to  you,  that  communicating  them  to 

you  gives  to  me,  I  am  satisfied. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      255 


As  I  am  not  devoutly  attached  to  a  certain  monarch,  I 
cannot  say  that  my  heart  ran  any  risk  of  bursting,  on  Thurs- 
day was  se'ennight,^  with  the  struggling  emotions  of  grati- 
tude. God  forgive  me  for  speaking  evil  of  dignities  !  but  I 
must  say  that  I  look  on  the  whole  business  as  a  solemn  farce 
of  flagrant  mummery.  The  following  are  a  few  stanzas  of 
new  Psalmody  for  that  "joyful  solemnity,"  which  I  sent  to  a 
London  newspaper  with  the  date  and  preface  following. 

Kilmarnock,  25th  April.  Mr,  Printer,  —  In  a  certain 
chapel,  not  fifty  miles  from  the  market-cross  of  this  good 
town,  the  following  stanzas  of  Psalmody,  it  is  said,  were 
composed  for,  and  devoutly  sung  on  the  late  joyful  solem- 
nity of  the  23rd. 

O,  sing  a  new  song  to  the  Lord  ! 

Make,  all  and  every  one 
A  joyful  noise,  ev'n  for  the  King 

His  restoration. 

The  sons  of  Belial  in  the  land 

Did  set  their  heads  together  ; 
"  Come,  let  us  sweep  them  off,"  said  they, 

"  Like  an  o'erflo\ving  river." 

They  set  their  heads  together,  I  say. 

They  set  their  heads  together: 
On  right  and  left,  and  every  hand, 

We  saw  none  to  deliver. 

Thou  madest  strong  two  chosen  ones, 

To  quell  the  Wicked's  pride  : 
The  Young  Man,2  great  in  Issachar, 

The  burden-bearing  tribe ; 

And  him,  among  the  Princes,  chief 

In  our  Jerusalem, 
The  Judge  ^  that 's  mighty  in  Thy  law, 

The  man  that  fears  Thy  name. 

Yet  they,  even  they,  with  all  their  strength, 

Began  to  faint  and  fail ; 
Even  as  two  howling,  rav'ning  wolves 

To  dogs  do  turn  their  tail. 


256  Correspondence  between 

Th'  ungodly  o'er  the  just  prevail'd, 

For  so  Thou  hadst  appointed, 
That  Thou  might'st  greater  glory  give 

Unto  Thine  own  annointed. 

And  now  Thou  hast  restored  our  State, 

Pity  our  Kirk  also, 
For  she  by  tribulations 

Is  now  brought  very  low ! 

Consume  that  high-place,  Patronage, 

From  off  Thy  holy  hill ; 
And  in  Thy  fury  burn  the  book  * 

Even  of  that  man  M'Gill. 

Now  hear  our  prayer,  accept  our  song, 

And  fight  Thy  chosen's  battle ! 

"We  seek  but  little,  Lord,  from  Thee, 

Thou  kens  we  get  as  little ! 

Duncan  M'Leerie. 

So  much  for  psalmody.  You  must  know  that  the  pub- 
lisher of  one  of  the  most  blasphemous  party  London  news- 
papers is  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  and  as  I  am  a  little 
tinctured  with  Buff  and  Blue  myself,  I  now  and  then  help 
him  to  a  stanza. 

I  gave  another  poetic  whim  in  my  head,  which  I  at 

present  dedicate,  or  rather  inscribe,  to  the  Rt.  Honble.  Ch. 

J.  Fox,  Esquire ;  but  how  long  that  fancy  may  hold,  I  can't 

say.     A  few  of  the  first  lines  I  have  just  rough  sketched  as 

follows  :  — 

SKETCH 

INSCRIBED  TO   CHARLES  JAMES   FOX,   ESQ. 

How  Wisdom  and  Folly  ineet,  mix,  and  unite ; 

How  Virtue  and  Vice  blend  their  black  and  their  white ; 

How  Genius,  th'  illustrious  father  of  fiction, 

Confounds  rule  and  law,  reconciles  contradiction, 

I  sing.     If  these  mortals,  the  critics,  should  bustle, 

I  care  not,  not  I :  let  the  critics  go  whistle ! 


Robert  Barns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      257 


But  now  for  a  Patron,  whose  name  and  whose  glory 
At  once  may  illustrate  and  honor  my  story. 

Thou  first  of  our  orators,  first  of  our  wits. 
Yet  whose  parts  and  acquirements  seem  mere  lucky  hits; 
With  knowledge  so  vast  and  with  judgment  so  strong. 
No  man  with  the  half  of  'em  e'er  went  far  wrong ; 
With  passions  so  potent  and  fancies  so  bright, 
No  man  with  the  half  of  'em  e'er  could  go  right ; 
A  sorry,  poor,  misbegot  son  of  the  Muses, 
For  using  thy  name,  offers  fifty  excuses. 

Good  L — d,  what  is  Man !  for  as  simple  he  looks. 
Do  but  try  to  develop  his  hooks  and  his  crooks ! 
With  his  depths  and  his  shallows,  his  good  and  his  evil. 
All  in  all  he 's  a  problem  must  puzzle  the  devil. 

On  his  one  ruling  passion  Sir  Pope  ^  hugely  labors, 
That,  like  th'  old  Hebrew  walking-switch,  eats  up  its  neighbours. 

Human  Nature  's  his  show-box  —  your  friend,  would  you  know  him .-' 
Pull  the  string,  Ruling  Passion  —  the  picture  will  show  him. 
What  pity,  in  rearing  so  beauteous  a  system. 
One  trifling  particular  —  Truth  —  should  have  miss'd  him! 
For,  spite  of  his  fine  theoretic  positions, 
Mankind  is  a  science  defies  definitions. 

Some  sort  all  our  qualities  each  to  its  tribe, 
And  think  Human  Nature  they  truly  describe  : 
Have  you  found  this  or  t'  other .'  there  's  more  in  the  wind. 
As  by  one  drunken  fellow  his  comrades  you  'II  find. 
But  such  is  the  flaw,  or  the  depth  of  the  plan 
In  the  make  of  that  wonderful  creature  called  Man ; 
No  two  virtues,  whatever  relation  they  claim. 
Nor  even  two  different  shades  of  the  same. 
Though  like  as  was  ever  twin  brother  to  brother. 
Possessing  the  one  shall  imply  you  've  the  other. 

But  truce  with  abstraction,  and  truce  with  a  Muse 
W^hose  rhymes  you  '11  perhaps,  Sir,  ne'er  deign  to  peruse  : 
Will  you  leave  your  justings,  your  jars,  and  your  quarrels, 
Contending  with  Billy  ^  for  proud-nodding  laurels  ? 
VOL.  I.  — 17 


258  Correspondence  between 

My  much-honor'd  Patron,  believe  your  poor  Poet, 

Your  courage  much  more  than  your  prudence,  you  show  it ; 

In  vain  with  Squire  Billy  for  laurels  you  struggle  : 

He  '11  have  them  by  fair  trade  —  if  not,  he  will  smuggle ; 

Not  cabinets  even  of  kings  would  conceal  'em, 

He  'd  up  the  back-stairs,  and  by  G he  would  steal  'em ! 

Then  feats  like  Squire  Billy's,  you  ne'er  can  achieve 'em, 
It  is  not,  out-do  him  —  the  task  is,  out-thieve  him  ! 

I  beg  your  pardon  for  troubling  you  with  the  enclosed  to 
the  Major's  tenant  before  the  gate ;  it  is  to  request  him  to 
look  me  out  two  milk  cows  :  one  is  for  myself  and  another 
for  Captain  Riddel  of  Glenriddel,  a  very  obliging  neighbour 
of  mine.  John  very  obligingly  offered  to  do  so  for  me ; 
and  I  will  either  serve  myself  that  way  or  at  Mauchline 
Fair.  It  happens  on  the  20th  curt.,  and  the  Sunday  pre- 
ceding it  I  hope  to  have  the  honor  of  assuring  you  in  per- 
son how  sincerely  I  am,  Madam,  your  highly  obliged  and 
most  obedient  humble  servant,  Robt.  Burns. 

(i)  See  antca,  page  254. 

(2)  William  Pitt. 

(3)  Lord  Chancellor  Thurlow.  Pitt  and  Thurlow 
had  opposed  the  appointment  of  a  regent  armed  with 
all  the  powers  of  a  king. 

(4)  Dr.  William   M'Gill's   Essay  on  the  Death   of 
Jesus  Christ. 

(5)  Pope's  Essay  on  Matt. 

(6)  Pitt. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 
Elliesland,  Dumfries. 

[Efidorsed:  20  May  '89.] 
[Franked  by  Kerr :  Edinburgh,  Twenty-eighth  May  1789.] 

Dr.  Sir,  —  I  don't  know  how  to  account  for  it  that,  spite 
of  your  being  part  of  two  days  here,^  I  never  mentioned 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      259 

several  things  I  wished  much  to  talk  of,  and  those  we  did 
speak  about  in  so  cursory  a  way  I  might  as  well  have  let 
them  alone.  Indeed  you  seemed  just  in  the  same  style, 
since  what  you  told  me  of  your  business  for  your  brother 
was  one  of  these  half-confidences  which  is  always  either 
too  little  or  too  much.  I  did  not  think  myself  at  liberty 
to  ask  any  question  farther  than  you  chose  to  communicate, 
especially  as  the  rest  of  the  company  might  have  accident- 
ally shared  the  information  only  meant  for  myself;  yet  you 
cannot  believe  I  was  wholly  void  of  curiosity.  Believe  me, 
I  wish  the  prosperity  of  all  your  family,  wherever  it  can  be 
attained  without  any  slur  on  that  rectitude  of  your  own 
character  in  which  your  supereminence  has  hitherto  shone 
even  more  bright  than  genius  alone  can  possibly  reach  to. 
There  are  plans  in  life  where  the  gain  is  so  great  on  one 
side  and  the  sacrifice  so  high  on  the  other  that  the  guilt 
becomes  greater  and  the  distress  more  lasting  than  robbery 
or  even  murder  might  occasion.  No  merit  in  a  man  can 
plead  pardon  for  the  woman  who  breaks  over  that  pale 
which  a  distinction  of  ranks  has  affixt  in  society.  Unless 
he  has  made  his  native  superiority  plain  to  the  world,  it 
can  never  with  propriety  come  under  her  notice.  Her 
motives  must  therefore  be  debasing  to  her,  and  her  con- 
duct disgraceful  to  her  friends.  She  must  forfeit  their 
esteem,  renounce  their  affection,  and  plunge  a  dagger  in 
their  heart  deeper  than  her  death  could  do.  Nor  will  one 
so  little  tied  to  the  decencies  of  female  duties  probably  ever 
make  a  tolerable  wife  in  other  respects,  even  should  she  be 
able  to  bend  to  a  reduced  situation,  embittered  by  remem- 
brance of  what  she  has  thrown  away  herself,  and  of  the  joy 
and  comfort  of  which  she  has  deprived  those  to  whom  her 
figure  in  life  was  a  real  and  inestimable  property,  or  perhaps 


26o  Correspondence  between 

a  devolved  trust  dearer  than  life  itself.  You  observe  there 
are  many  things  your  brother  can  do  on  a  farm  which  you 
cannot  now  do ;  there  are  likewise  many  women  might 
have  married  you  who  would  become  justly  contemptible 
by  marrying  him,  even  allowing  him  to  be,  as  Mr.  Alex- 
ander says  he  is,  the  preferable  man  of  the  two.  Many 
matches  you  might  have  embraced  which  in  him  would  be 
very  ungenerous,  and  taking  a  mean,  unmanly  advantage 
of  folly  or  affection.  In  these  cases  the  principle  is,  how- 
ever, less  blameable  than  the  cool,  unimpetuous  accessory. 
For  all  which  reasons  I  trust  you  will  never  be  seen  as- 
sistant to  any  plan  where  there  is  great  disparity  in  anything 
but  cash,  unless  the  man  has  acquired  Mat  like  your  own, 
or  the  woman  has  enough  to  do  what  she  pleases  inde- 
pendent of  remorse,  which  would  require  a  far  greater  sum 
than  the  one  you  mentioned.  But  forgive  me,  the  deli- 
cacie  of  your  own  mind  must  suggest  all  and  more  than  I 
can  say  on  this  subject.  Did  I  not  think  so,  I  could  not 
esteem  you  as  I  do ;  so  farewell  this  anticipated  theme, 
since  I  am  convinced  wherever  honour  grips  that  will 
always  be  your  border,  and  one  which  neither  personal 
interest  nor  fraternal  affection  will  be  able  to  make  you 
step  over. 

I  had  this  moment  the  inclosed  "^  from  Mr.  Moore,  and 
have  done  you  the  favour  of  allowing  you  a  reading  of  my 
answer,  which  I  beg  you  may  put  a  wafer  in,  and  send  to 
the  Dr.,  whether  you  subscribe  to  the  contents  or  not.  My 
reason  for  letting  you  see  it  was  that,  if  you  thought  of  the 
plan,  you  might  take  any  step  you  thought  could  help  it 
forward,  as  no  time  should  be  lost,  if  indeed  it  is  not 
already  over,  which  I  am  somewhat  apprehensive  of.  I 
intended  you  a  long  letter,  but  this  incident   led  me  to 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      261 

address   it  to   Mr.  Moore,  and   my  weak  eyes  have   now 

made  me  blind.     Yet  I   must  give  you  a  few  lines  more 

before   I  can  bid  you  adieu.     You  heard  me  get  a  most 

violent  attack  for  encouraging  a  man  to  expose  himself  by 

asking  copies  of  nonsense    he  had  wrot  in  rhyme.     The 

accusation  would  have  hurt  me  in  any  company,  but  more 

especially  in  yours.     It  set  me  in  a  dishonest  as  well  as  an 

unhospitable  point  of  light,  as  unjust  to  a  man  and  brutal 

to  my  guest.     As  you  said  of  vindicating  your  conduct  to 

those  whose  esteem  you  valued,  I,  who  value  your  esteem 

more  than  perhaps  anybody  does  mine,  wish  to  vindicate 

mine  to  the  man,  the  friend,  and  the  poet,  where  to  every 

eye  I  must  have  appeared  blamable  by  the  representation 

of  a  fact  I  could  not  wholly  deny,  but  which  T.  will  try  to 

elucidate  more  in  my  own  favours  by  giving  you  the  copies 

in  question.     The  one  was  an  address  to  a  gentleman  of 

the  Weymes  family,  pretending  to  be  the  chief  of  the  name, 

and  whom   the  author  wished  to  inspire  with  a  resolution 

to  stand  for  member  of  Parliament  against  a  man  who,  he 

believed,  had  used  him  ill  and  broke  his  word.     Whatever 

you  say  to  the  poetry,  I   don't  believe  you  will  find   the 

arguments  foolish,  cold,  or  ill-calculated   to   move   a   vain 

man  descended  from  M'Dufif.     The  other  was  an  epigram 

on  reading  "  A  Bard's  Epitaph  "  of  your  acquaintance,  and 

as  follows  :  — 

Go,  manly  Bard,  all  Nature's  words  are  thine ; 

Thou  giv'st  them  as  thou  had'st  them  clearly  from  the  Nine. 

Tho'  Fortune  (that  Blind  B )  has  heretofor  frown'd, 

Be  thy  intrinsic  worth  with  all  her  honours  crown'd. 

The  gentleman  is  (some  people  say)  mad.  He  is  perhaps 
no  poet,  but  I  aver  he  is  no  fool  at  least,  tho'  only  a  poor 
rhymer  like  myself.     I  positively  assert  I  meant  not  to  lead 


262  Correspondence  between 

him  to  expose  himself  by  pretending  to  applaud  what  I 
thought  ridiculous,  but  the  conversation  has  so  far  opened 
my  eyes  to  other  folks'  ideas  that  I  believe  I  will  never  try 
crambo  clink  again,  lest  you  should  prove  as  hard  a  judge 
on  me  as  the  Major  did  on  my  poor  visitor,  in  whom  you 
may  some  time  or  other  be  more  interested.  Meanwhile, 
adieu.  —  Yours,  with  honest  sincerity  and  friendly  esteem, 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

Send  me  your  Epitaph  on  R.  Mure  [Muir] . 

(i)  This  is  the  sole  reference  extant  to  a  visit 
Burns  must  have  paid  to  Dunlop  in  the  summer  of 
this  year.  Apparently  some  projected  marriage  of 
Gilbert  to  a  lady  "  above  his  station  "  was  discussed 
on  the  occasion,  as  well,  perhaps,  as  the  suggestion 
that  Gilbert  might  take  over  the  farm  of  Ellisland. 

(2)  Dr.  Moore's  communication  probably  referred 
to  the  professorship.     See  antea,  p.  235. 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 

Dunlop  House,  Stewarton. 

Ellisland,  z\st  June  1789. 

Dear  Madam,  —  Will  you  take  the  effusions,  the  miser- 
able effusions,  of  low  spirits,  just  as  they  flow  from  their 
bitter  spring?  I  know  not  of  any  particular  cause  for  this 
worst  of  all  my  foes  besetting  me,  but  for  some  time  my 
soul  has  been  beclouded  with  a  thickening  atmosphere  of 
evil  imaginations  and  gloomy  presages. 

Monday  Evening. 

I  have  just  heard  Mr.  Kirkpatrick  ^  give  a  sermon.  He 
is  a  man  famous  for  his  benevolence,  and  I  revere  him ; 
but  from  such  ideas  of  my  Creator,  good  Lord  deliver  me  ! 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      263 

Religion,  my  honored  friend,  is  surely  a  simple  business, 
as  it  equally  concerns  the  ignorant  and  the  learned,  the 
poor  and  the  rich.  That  there  is  an  incomprehensible 
Great  Being,  to  whom  I  owe  my  existence,  and  that  He 
must  be  intimately  acquainted  with  the  operations  and 
progress  of  the  internal  machinery  and  consequent  out- 
ward deportment  of  this  creature  which  He  has  made  : 
these  are,  I  think,  self-evident  propositions.  That  there 
is  a  real  and  eternal  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice, 
and,  consequently,  that  I  am  an  accountable  creature ;  that 
from  the  seeming  nature  of  the  human  mind,  as  well  as 
from  the  evident  imperfection,  nay,  positive  injustice,  in 
the  administration  of  affairs,  both  in  the  natural  and  moral 
worlds,  there  must  be  a  retributive  scene  of  existence  be- 
yond the  grave,  must,  I  think,  be  allowed  by  every  one 
who  will  give  himself  a  moment's  reflection.  I  will  go 
further,  and  affirm  that  from  the  sublimity,  excellence  and 
purity  of  His  doctrine  and  precepts,  unparalleled  by  all  the 
aggregated  wisdom  and  learning  of  many  preceding  ages, 
though,  to  appearance,  He  himself  was  the  obscurest  and 
most  illiterate  of  our  species;  therefore  Jesus  Christ  was 
from  God.  .  .  . 

Whatever  mitigates  the  woes  or  increases  the  happiness 
of  others,  this  is  my  criterion  of  goodness ;  and  whatever 
injures  society  at  large  or  any  individual  in  it,  this  is  my 
measure  of  iniquity. 

What  think  you.  Madam,  of  my  creed?  I  trust  that  I 
have  said  nothing  that  will  lessen  me  in  the  eye  of  one 
whose  good  opinion  I  value  almost  to  the  approbation  of 
my  own  mind. 

Your  little  dear  namesake  has  not  yet  made  his  appear- 
ance, but  he  is  every  day  expected.      I  promise    myself 


264  Correspondence  between 

great  assistance  in  training  up  his  young  mind  to  dignity 
of  sentiment  and  greatness  of  soul,  from  the  honored  name 
by  which  he  is  called.  I  know  many  would  despise  and 
more  would  laugh  at,  such  a  way  of  thinking ;  but  with  all 
reverence  to  the  cold  theorems  of  Reason,  a  few  honest 
Prejudices  and  benevolent  Prepossessions,  are  of  the  ut- 
most consequence,  and  give  the  finishing  polish  to  the 
illustrious  character  of  Patriot,  Benefactor,  Father  and 
Friend ;  and  all  the  tender  relations  included  in  the  en- 
dearing word.  Family.  What  a  poor,  blighted,  rickety 
breed  are  the  Virtues  and  charities  when  they  take  their 
birth  from  geometrical  hypothesis  and  mathematical  dem- 
onstration !  And  what  a  vigorous  Offspring  are  they  when 
they  owe  their  origin  to,  and  are  nursed  with  the  vital 
blood  of  a  heart  glowing  with  the  noble  enthusiasm  of 
Generosity,  Benevolence,  and  Greatness  of  Soul !  The 
first  may  do  very  well  for  those  philosophers  who  look  on 
the  world  of  man  as  one  vast  ocean,  and  each  individual 
as  a  little  vortex  in  it  whose  sole  business  and  merit  is  to 
absorb  as  much  as  it  can  in  its  own  center ;  but  the  last 
is  absolutely  and  essentially  necessary  when  you  would 
make  a  Leonidas,  a  Hannibal,  an  Alfred,  or  a  Wallace. 

Whether  this  long  letter  may  contribute  to  your  enter- 
tainment is  what  I  cannot  tell ;  but  one  thing  I  know,  my 
own  spirits  are  a  good  deal  the  lighter  for  this  opportunity 
of  assuring  you  how  sincerely  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
Madam,  your  oblidged  friend  and  humble  servt. 

RoBT.  Burns. 

(i)  The  Rev.  Joseph  Kirkpatrick  was  minister  of 
Dunscore  (the  parish  in  which  Ellisland  is  situated), 
and  Burns  with  his  family  attended  Dunscore  Church. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     265 


To  Burns. 

Dunlop,  27 tk  June  1789. 

Surrounded  as  I  have  been  by  disease  and  death,  tho' 
my  hand  has  been  employed  sewing  trimmings  for  the 
cofifin  and  the  face  cloth  for  the  dead,  or  in  making  the 
necessary  preparations  for  the  birth  of  another  grandchild, 
which  birth  I  am  not  without  apprehension  may  be  attended 
with  the  loss  of  a  daughter,  whose  delicate  state  of  health 
wears  but  a  dismal  presage  at  present,  yet  to  whom  my 
cares  are  of  no  use,  and  who  is  now  about  to  leave  me ; 
my  thoughts  have  often  fled  to  you,  and  had  they  been 
placid  enough  to  allow  of  my  putting  them  on  paper,  would 
ere  now  have  added  another  to  the  volumes  you  are  about 
to  receive,  inscribed  on  the  title-page  "From  the  Author." 
You  will  judge  of  the  situation  we  have  been  in,  when  I  tell 
you  we  had  two  servants  up  every  night,  indeed  sometimes 
three,  watching  the  sick  and  the  dying  for  above  a  month 
together;  that  for  ten  days  there  was  not  a  room  in  the 
house  but  one  out  of  reach  of  the  agonising  cry  of  an  ex- 
piring man,  and  in  that  one  lay  Mrs.  Henri  unable  to  speak 
and  half  frantic  with  pain.  The  poor  man  was  my  son's 
servant,  come  here  from  Berwick  the  very  day  before  he 
took  his  bed,  a  stranger  and  forlorn ;  knew  no  face  or  name 
around  him,  and  was  the  son  of  a  poor  widow  whom  he 
had  supported  for  eight  years  and  now  left  desolate.  Oh  ! 
my  friend,  could  I  tell  you  this  poor  fellow's  distress  and 
his  manly,  resigned,  pious,  dutiful  manner  of  clearing  his 
thorny  path  to  the  grave,  the  calm  serenity,  mild  affection, 
and  devout  dignity  his  mind  displayed  during  the  intervals 
of  racking  torture,  or  even  in  distraction  when  pain  did  not 
extort  the  loudest  screams  of  unutterable  anguish,  it  could 
not  fail  to  create  in  your  heart  such  emotions  as  might  be 


266  Correspondence  between 

productive  of  the  finest  poem  you  ever  vvrot.  But  I  will 
not  dwell  on  a  scene  the  tremors  of  which  shook  my  nerves, 
and  made  me  unable  to  write  you.  This  accounts  for  my 
silence.  But  how,  my  dr.  Sir,  shall  I  satisfy  myself  in 
accounting  for  yours  ?  In  my  intercourse  with  you  I  find 
it  exemplified  that  there  is  no  pleasure  without  pain,  for 
you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  and  I  have  enjoyed  it  with 
so  much  grateful  pleasure,  that  your  attentions  have  ac- 
quired a  degree  of  that  attribute  in  providence  which  re- 
quires unremitting  exertion  for  our  preservation,  and  which 
the  Psalms  describe  by  saying  "  He  shuts  his  hand  we  die." 
Believe  me,  when  you  shut  your  ink-glass  my  spirits  grow 
much  more  faint  than  many  of  those  who  die  in  metaphor 
and  song.  I  am  seriously  afflicted,  and  with  all  the  anxiety 
of  disappointed  hope  and  jealous  timidity  of  friendship,  dif- 
fident of  its  own  claims,  set  about  examining  if  I  can  have 
drawn  upon  myself  that  deprivation  in  which  I  feel  un- 
happy in  the  full  ratio  of  that  relief  my  mind  formerly 
reaped  from  your  works,  and  still  more  from  the  fond  idea 
of  having  secured  a  rank  in  your  esteem  which  I  fear  you 
don't  find  on  nearer  investigation  I  have  merit  to  hold 
entire.  Have  I  said  or  wrot  ought  to  displease?  Even 
were  it  so,  how  can  I  retract  ?  My  words  and  letters  are 
the  very  pictures  of  my  soul  at  the  moment,  and  she  cannot 
wear  disguise,  even  should  her  genuine  features  disgust  a 
friend ;  nor  would  that  regard  be  flattering  which  was  pro- 
cured by  carrying  false  colours.  Yet  there  are  instanta- 
neous ideas  pass  over  every  mind  that  fleet  away  like  the 
changing  clouds  of  the  sky,  and,  when  told  our  friend, 
should  possess  his  memory  no  longer  than  they  do  our 
own,  at  least  not  to  our  hurt.  What  confidence  expresses 
candour  should  peruse ;  the  heart  treasure  what  it  approves ; 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     267 

and  the  pen  point  out  what  it  dislikes,  that  it  may  be  re- 
moved as  far  as  is  possible  or  proper.  Judge  of  me,  dear 
Bums,  by  yourself.  You  would,  I  think,  scorn  to  wear  a 
false  face  for  any  one,  but  you  would  shave  your  beard  to 
please  your  wife,  or  perhaps  even  to  please  me,  if  you 
thought  that  care  could  tend  to  put  it  further  in  your  power. 
Trust  me,  I  would  not  conceal,  but  really  endeavour  to 
prune  away  every  exuberance  or  impropriety  from  my  mind 
that  could  lessen  your  esteem,  or  create  one  disagreeable 
sensation  in  your  breast.  So  don't  punish  any  transient 
error  by  withdrawing  a  correspondence  the  most  pleasing 
and  indeed  the  only  one  of  mere  choice  I  now  possess,  and 
of  which  I  assure  you  I  feel  the  whole  value.  Do  you  re- 
member you  begged  my  pardon  for  enclosing  a  letter  under 
my  cover,  and  said  you  would  never  trouble  me  with  an- 
other? Did  you  mean  by  this  you  would  not  write  me 
again?  I  begin  to  fear  you  did,  although  I  cannot  guess 
why.  I  must  own  that,  after  59  years  habituated  to  mor- 
tification and  disappointment,  I  should  find  this  one  of  the 
most  questionable  shapes  in  which  they  ever  appeared  to 
me ;  but  this  is  too  terrific  a  specter  for  fancy  herself  to 
introduce.     I  will  not,  dare  not  think  of  it. 

After  receiv-ing  the  note  I  had  from  Mr.  Moore  which  I 
sent  you,  I  wrot  Mr.  Creech  to  send  me  the  books,  and 
added  that  if  he  had  no  better  conveyance  he  might  send 
yours  also,  and  I  should  take  care  you  should  receive  them. 
Accordingly,  two  days  ago,  Zehcco  ^  came,  and  with  it 
Charlotte  Smith's  Sonnets  "^  from  herself.  I  used  the  free- 
dom to  stop  them  a  day  or  two,  that  I  might  look  at  the 
last,  and  with  a  pencil  have  touched  the  lines  I  liked  best. 
If  you  differ,  your  handkerchief  will  at  once  obliterate  the 


268  Correspondence  between 

slight  mark,  but  with  what  enhanced  delight  would  I  have 
read  your  Spenser  had  you  left  such  indications  of  your 
partiality  to  better  my  judgment  and  direct  ray  taste  !  I 
shall  send  it  and  the  three  above-mentioned  volumes  to 
Wilson  at  Kilmarnock  to  be  forwarded  to  you,  or  to  lie 
till  called  for,  as  you  chuse  to  direct  in  a  letter  I  will  hope 
to  have  from  you  hy  post,  as  I  sometimes  persuade  myself 
you  have  only  delayed  writing  to  give  me  the  additional 
joy  of  hearing  your  son  was  born,  and  Mrs.  Burns  as  well 
as  I  must  ever  wish  the  person  you  like  best  and  on  whom 
your  future  happiness  in  this  world  most  depends. 

Some  days  ago  I  happened  to  be  in  company  where  the 
conversation  turned  on  Natural  Philosophy  and  that  equi- 
librium supported  by  the  powers  of  nature  through  all  the 
elements,  from  whence  was  a  transition  to  the  counterpoise 
of  misery  and  happiness  in  different  spheres  and  situations 
of  human  life,  and  some  anecdotes  about  an  old  acquaint- 
ance of  yours,  from  whence  we  had  some  strictures  on 
your  politicks  and  poetry,  concluded  by  some  regrets  over 
a  resolution  you  had  exprest  of  printing  nothing  for  four- 
teen years  to  come.  This,  after  the  company  parted,  pro- 
duced some  lines,  which  I  shall  send  you,  since  I  am  a 
little  afraid  my  proposal  about  your  books  has  retarded 
your  having  them  so  soon  as  they  might  otherwise  have 
arrived.  But  it  is  not  the  first  time,  though  I  wish  it  rnay 
be  the  last,  when  my  desire  to  serve  my  friends  has  turned 
out  to  my  disappointment  and  their  disadvantage,  as  is  the 
present  case  when  you  get  my  scrawl  for  a  succedaneum,  as 
Dr.  Moore  would  say,  for  his  and  C.  Smith's  books.  But,  to 
use  your  own  words,  it  shall  be  the  last  time  for  a  great 
while  at  least  that  I  will  give  you  any  trouble,  unless  you 
write  me  that  you  wish  it.     Farewell !  —  Yours  sincerely, 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 


Rob'ert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      269 


Great  and  exalted  above  private  ends, 
Thro'  Nature's  laws  Almighty  Love  extends. 
Observe  her  works  !  she  equalises  all, 
See  water  rise  up  from  its  deepest  fall ; 
No  cloud  imbu'd  with  keen  electric  fire, 
Unsharing  lets  a  brother  cloud  retire. 


Since  writing  the  above  I  have  this  moment  the  inclosed 
from  Mr.  Moore,  which  I  send  that  you  may  see  what 
has  past,  though  I  am  afraid  the  time  has  past.  Yet,  as  I 
mentioned  before,  I  am  pleased  your  name  has  been  an- 
nounced to  Mr.  Poultney,  who  is  really  the  Maecenas  of  this 
age,  and  may,  God  willing,  as  the  sailors  say,  give  you  a 
fair  wind  another  time.     Adieu  ! 

(i)  ZelucOf  Dr.  Moore's  novel,  was  published  this 
year. 

(2)  Elegiac  Sonnets  and  other  Essays,  by  Charlotte 
Smith  (vol.  i.,  Chichester,  1784). 

The  following  letter,  it  will  be  noted,  was  begun  on 
the  same  day  as  the  preceding  one,  and  presumably 
after  it  had  been  despatched  to  the  post-office. 
Then,  having  meanwhile  received  the  Burns  letter 
dated  Ellisland,  21st  June,  Mrs.  Dunlop  immediately 
began  this  second  letter,  which,  being  interrupted  by 
her  journey  to  Loudoun  Castle,  with  her  daughter, 
Mrs.  Henri,  remained  unfinished  till  after  her  return 
to  Dunlop  House  in  July,  and  was  not  franked  by 
Kerr,  at  Edinburgh,  until  the   17th  of  that  month. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

Elliesland,  Dumfries.  Dunlop,  z-jth  June  1789. 

[Franked  by  Kerr :  Edinburgh,  Seventeenth  July  1789.] 

I  have  just,  my  worthy  friend,  received  yours  this  moment. 
The  value  is  threefold  on  account  of  its  reaching  me  before 


270  Correspondence  between 

it  could  be  enforced  by  the  receipt  of  a  long,  stupid  piece, 
I  dare  say  it  was,  which  I  wrot  you  when  I  laboured 
under  an  apprehension  of  your  being  tired  of  reading  my 
scribbles,  which,  however  long  they  may  be,  are  very  short 
compared  to  the  long  ^  I  think  for  your  replies,  which  al- 
ways afford  me  pleasure  far  superiour  to  what  goes  under 
the  name  of  entertainment.  An  opera  or  masquerade  ticket 
costs  half  a  guinea,  your  letter  fourpence.  Were  the  case 
reversed,  believe  me,  my  choice  would  not  in  consequence 
be  reversed  too,  spite  of  my  propensity  to  economy,  which 
carries  me  further  on  some  roads  than  it  does  anybody  else ; 
at  least  a  number  of  my  friends  and  of  my  enemies  think 
so,  perhaps  for  very  different  reasons,  tho'  perhaps  two 
more  than  all  others,  both  for  this  one,  namely,  that  none 
of  the  two  know  ought  of  the  matter,  my  reasons  and 
motives  being  often  a  secret  even  to  myself —  a  situation  to 
which  I  suppose  a  man  of  your  good  sense  must  be  wholly 
a  stranger,  though  amongst  us  ladies  nothing  is  more  com- 
mon. Indeed  this  kind  of  self- ignorance  is  our  daily 
bread,  so  that  it  is  no  wonder  we  so  often  appear  whim- 
sical and  capricious  to  the  rest  of  the  world  —  a  fault  which, 
as  a  poet,  you  are  bound  to  forgive,  if  not  to  like  us  the 
better  for  it.  I  hope  you  are  so  like  a  woman  yourself 
as  to  have  changed  your  mood  long  ago,  and  that  this  shall 
no  longer  find  you  in  low  spirits,  but  that  the  exhilarating 
dose  of  confessing  yourself  to  me  has  kept  you  merry  ever 
since.  I  can  readily  absolve  every  heterodoxy  of  your 
creed,  nor  is  there  any  great  room  to  fear  ever  your  religion 
and  mine  should  run  far  counter,  unless  upon  the  principle 
that  two  of  a  trade  can  never  agree.  I  even  find  in  your 
faith  a  charming  support  and  auxiliary  for  my  own,  as  the 
one  is  founded  on  solid  understanding  and  rational  indue- 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      271 

tion,  and  the  other  on  the    spontaneous,  undigested   sug- 
gestions of  warm   affections.     A   man  is   attached  by  his 
judgement  to  his  duty  and  his  God ;  a  woman  by  her  pas- 
sions and  her  heart.     A  timid  sense  of  her  own  weakness 
makes  her  soul  clasp  to  her  Creator,  and  to  those  protect- 
ing, comforting  friends  He  has  given  her.     Everj^  endear- 
ing duty  strengthens  those  ties  to  which  she  wishes  to  owe 
her  happiness  and  safety,  and  from  whence  alone  she  draws 
her  consequence  in  this  life,  or  probably  borrows  strength 
to  reach  the  reward  she  looks  forward  to  in  the  next.     Let 
man   glory  in  his  reason   and  his  strength,  while  woman 
owes  to  her  native  weakness,  her  goodness  and  her  grace, 
and  learns  to  pity  ills  she  fears  to  feel.     Yet  I  confess  no 
fear  for  hell  has  ever  as  yet  reached  me,  except  it  was  that 
of  cherishing  for  a  moment  any  wish  that  could  seem  to 
deserve  it  —  for  example,  one  such  as  hurts  me  in  Char- 
lotte Smith's  Elegy,  but  I  have  given  my  thoughts  of  her 
works  on  the  cover.     Oblige  me  in  return  with  yours  of  the 
Doctor.     I  am  ashamed  to  think  how  I  must  have    dis- 
appointed him  by  keeping  it  so  long  out  of  your  power  to 
pronounce  a  sentence  for  which  he  is  so  truly  anxious,  and 
for  which  I  am  likeways  impatient,  as  he  is  now  the  earliest 
and  best  friend  I  have  alive,  and  tryed  by  more  than  fourty 
winters. 

l-^th  July. 

When  I  had  wrot  this  far,  I  was  interrupted.  I  went  to 
Loudoun  with  JNIrs.  Henri,  who  is  much  better ;  there  she 
kept  me  longer  than  I  intended,  and  thus  my  letter  lay  un- 
finished and  your  books  unsent.  I  am  now  in  earnest  to  make 
up  as  far  as  I  can  my  lee-way'in  both.  I  have  just  received 
yours  with  the  truly  delightful  Elegy,^  in  which  I  would  have 
multiplyed  the  favourite  marks  without  omitting  one.     The 


272  Correspondence  between 

poet  need  never  ask  those  tears  of  pity  which  would  spon- 
taneously embalm  his  memory  and  overflow  his  grass-grown 
turf,  for  which  the  sons  of  tenderness  or  of  genius  would  for- 
get that  of  Newmarket  itself,  and  feel  their  losses  and  gains 
here  still  more  interesting.  You  say  my  letter  gave  you 
pain.  I  hope  not  so  much  as  your  silence  gave  me.  You 
have,  however,  like  a  true  Christian,  revenged  yourself,  and 
heaped  coals  of  fire  on  my  head  by  the  pleasure  I  felt  from 
the  kindness  as  well  as  the  poetry  of  yours,  for  to  you  I 
found  myself  indebted  for  both,  and  beUeved  my  anxiety 
about  Mrs.  Henri  and  her  prospect  of  going  abroad  in  bad 
health  inspired  the  tender  ideas  that  flow  too  warm  from 
the  heart  to  be  wholly  fiction.  But  O  !  my  friend,  imagina- 
tion does  not  reach  the  horrors  of  truth  to  the  poor  female 
who  quits  her  native  country  and  carries  with  her  the  sensi- 
bility of  an  affectionate  character  and  the  weakness  of  a 
woman.  My  daughter  Mrs.  Vans  ^  at  this  moment  sits  over 
the  cellar,  under  the  floor  of  which  she  has  been  forced  to 
thrust,  at  dead  of  night  by  stealth,  the  scarce  cold  remains 
of  a  sister  and  a  friend  she  carried  with  her,  and  of  a  child 
she  bore  and  nursed  in  that  alien  land,  and  never  could  shew 
to  her  mother,  her  brothers,  or  her  sisters,  and  whose  bones 
she  must  leave  perhaps  to  the  rage  of  superstition,  from 
which  she  can  only  flatter  herself  to  protect  them  by  paying 
rent  for  the  vault  for  ten  years  after  she  leaves  the  place, 
when  it  is  believed  the  bodies  will  be  consumed  by  time  and 
a  mixture  of  lime  with  which  they  are  covered  at  the  instant 
of  hiding  them  from  the  cruelty  of  human  (worse  than) 
wolfs ;  these  only  prowl  for  food.  How  can  we  connect  the 
present  glorious  stand  of  France  for  freedom  with  these  re- 
maining fetters  of  the  mind?  Are  they  as  yet  only  galley- 
slaves,  escaping  and  knocking  down  everything  with  their 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      273 

chains  in  their  flight,  or  is  this  the  native  character  of  man 
which  will  remain  after  the  establisliment  of  freedom  ?     Tell 
me,  you  who  have  looked  through  Nature,  and  know  all  her 
various  mazes,  how  long  the   impressions  made  by  living 
under  an  absolute  government  remain  on  the  mind,  and 
whether  the  abject  debasement  of  the  lowest  class,  or  the 
overbearing  insolence  of  the  v-ery  softest  of  the  upper  ones, 
is  most  disgusting.    For  my  own  part,  I  believe  I  should  like 
an  Italian  lazzeretto  better  than  a  French  gentleman,  as  pity 
is  a  feeling  more  congenial  to  my  soul  than  indignation, 
which  frivolity  and  arrogance  united  must  unavoidably  create, 
whereas  the  greatest  worldly  bliss  I  have  ever  tasted  has 
lain  in  the  admiration,  esteem,  and  reverence  inspired  by  a 
truly  amiable  generous  mind,  at  once  noble    and  tender. 
Where  great  talents  are  joined  with  interesting  weaknesses 
and  amusing  whimsical  varieties,  sometimes  even  little  faults 
themselves  season  the  compound  perfectly  to  my  taste  ;  such 
it  has  sometimes  been  my  happiness  to  meet  or  think  I  had 
met ;  for  if  the  illusion  lasts,  it  is  the  same  thing  to  me  in 
this  world,  and  I  dare  say  will  be  set  right  some  way  or 
other  so  as  not  to  vex  me  in  the  next.     Such  I  have  be- 
lieved some  of  my  relations,  and  some  such  I  have  fancied 
my  friends,  even  in  the  dark  evening  of  my  life.     If  I  am 
wrong,  may  Heaven  and  they  have  goodness  to  protract  the 
error  as  long  as  my  existence  !     Forgive  me.  Dr.  Sir,  if  in 
one  instance  I  presume  to  chalk  out   even  your  path ;  in 
every  other  the  powers  of  your  own  mind  will  naturally  point 
to  what  will  please  me  far  beyond  the  farthest  suggestion  of 
my  own  fancy.     Yet  I  will  freely  own  this  one  is  now  be- 
come perhaps  more  important  than  all  the  rest  put  together. 
So,  pray  don't  neglect  your  que,  though  I  don't  even  know 
how  to  spell  it,  and  should  I  ever  inadvertently  forfeit  the 

VOL.  I.  — 18 


274  Correspondence  between 

place  I  now  flatter  myself  by  your  permission  with  holding 
in  your  registers,  don't  let  me  discover  my  misfortune,  since 
I  should  feel  it  an  irretrievably  great  one,  the  very  suspicion 
of  which  would  distress  me  more  than  many  of  those  disasters 
the  world  pity  most.  It  must  be  some  months  hence  before 
I  can  give  you  good  news  of  Mrs.  H.  I  expect  much  sooner 
to  have  yours  of  Mrs.  Burns.  May  they  be  happy  as  your 
fondest  wish.  I  have  this  moment  accounts  of  the  death  of 
a  worthy  old  woman,  one  who,  I  think,  liked  me  as  much  as 
any  thing  on  earth,  and  attended  me  inlying  of  13  children. 
She  was  my  grandfather's  servant,  my  brother's  infant  keeper, 
and  my  tenant's  wife,  aged  94  or  95.  My  spirits  are  this 
moment  laid  with  her  in  the  grave,  where  I  bless  God  she  is 
at  rest,  for  her  only  son,  a  batchelor,  who  has  brought  up 
and  been  a  father  to  three  familys  of  her  grandchildren,  and 
dedicate  his  very  life  to  her,  is  thought  in  a  consumption. 

I  thought  to  tell  you  of  a  humble  poetess*  who  came 
from  Ecclesfechan  to  be  my  chamber-maid  on  the  merit  of 
her  attempting  what  seemed  beyond  her  line  in  the  way  of 
writing  or  thinking.  I  parted  with  her  to  my  daughter, 
thinking  a  child's  maid,  if  she  was  fit  for  it,  a  better 
place  than  I  had  to  offer.  She  was  glad  to  go  to  Loudoun, 
because  she  heard  you  lived  near  it,  and,  as  she  told  me, 
hoped  to  see  you.  Her  outside  promises  nothing ;  her 
mind  only  bursts  forth  on  paper,  of  which  I  send  you  a 
specimen  in  her  own  hand.  She  is  industrious,  and  seems 
good-temper'd  and  discreet,  but  betrays  no  one  indication 
that  I  could  discover  of  ever  having  opened  a  book  or 
tagged  a  rhyme ;  so  that  I  hope  she  will  not  be  less  happy 
for  having  tryed  it.  Adieu.  Your  books  go  to-night  to 
Wilson,  who  says  he  can  always  get  them  sent  you  easily. 
I  take  another  sheet  to  tell  you  I  have  sent  your  "  Faery 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      275 

Queene  "  with  the  other  volumes  to  Kilmarnock.  I  had  it 
so  long  by  me  I  was  half  unwilling  to  quit  sight  of  it,  though 
alas  !  it  was  become  invisible  to  my  optics,  but  yet  it  was  the 
memorial  of  another  poet  as  well  as  its  author,  and  I  re- 
gretted I  had  not  scratched  the  margins  as  I  read  it,  but 
I  was  not  then  so  well  acquainted  with  the  owner  as  to 
assume  that  liberty  with  his  property.  Tell  me  what  you 
think  of  Jenny  Little's  "  Looking-Glass."  The  occasion 
on  which  she  wrot  it  was  to  convince  a  young  lady  who 
doubted  the  authenticity  of  her  having  wrot  something  else 
she  had  shewed  her,  and  asked  her  to  write  on  a  given  sub- 
ject. She  said  she  had  never  done  so,  but,  since  she  wished 
it,  would  try  if  she  would  give  her  one.  She  told  her  she 
had  that  forenoon  broke  a  glass  she  was  vext  about,  and 
bid  her  celebrate  it.  She  did  so,  and  a  gentleman  asked 
her  on  the  same  footing  to  make  the  acrostic  on  his  name. 
These  are  play,  not  genius,  and  I  fear  you  will  say,  like 
mistress  like  maid  ;  and  if  you  do,  I  'm  even  afraid  the  maid 
will  have  most  reason  to  be  offended  with  the  proverb.  She 
made  another  in  the  character  of  a  lover  on  a  girl  she  called 
Calista,  drest  in  her  grandmother's  crimson  plaid,  which 
gave  the  hint  for  some  lines  and  a  sketch  of  a  landskip,  with 
which  I  put  off  an  idle  half-hour,  and  which  I  send  you  to 
shew  you  how  ladies  put  off  a  rainy  morning  doing  they 
don't  know  what,  and  doing  it  they  don't  know  how,  and 
then  exposing  the  folly  to  those  they  wish  most  their  friends 
as  I  do  now.  All  I  shall  say  in  my  own  vindication  is  that 
Scripture  commands  us  to  do  as  we  would  be  done  by,  and 
I  literally  obey  when  I  write  and  assure  you  of  the  sincere 
esteem  and  regard  with  which  I  am,  Dr.  Sir,  your  obliged 
and  obedient  humble  servt.,  and,  truth  bids  me  add,  ever 
gratefully  your  friend,  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 


276  Correspondence  between 

Next  month  is  August.  Last  August  brought  me  four 
letters  from  the  best  correspondent  and  one  of  the  most 
admired  as  well  as  esteemed  men  of  my  acquaintance. 
Ought  I  ever  to  hope  any  other  month  of  my  life  shall  dare 
pretend  to  rival  August,  1788?  I  wish  the  Scots  Bard 
would  try  what  might  be  done  in  honour  of  the  '89  which 
he  ushered  in  so  respectably  with  a  New  Year's  gift  that 
Swift's  Stella  or  his  own  might  have  been  vain  of,  especially 
if  they  had  been  three  score  like  your  humble  servt.  Are 
you  not  grateful  for  all  this  clean  paper  from  me?  I 
grudge  it.^ 

( 1 )  Think  long,  Scotticism  for  eagerly  desire,  with 
a  touch  of  hopelessness. 

(2)  See  infra,  p.  278.  Burns's  of  the  7th  had 
been  received. 

(3)  Mrs.  Vans  Agnew,  Mrs.  Dunlop's  fourth  daugh- 
ter, who  lived  long  abroad. 

(4)  Janet  Little  (1759-18 13),  "the  Scottish  milk- 
maid "  poetess,  was  placed  in  charge  of  the  dairy  at 
Loudoun  Castle,  the  residence  of  the  Henris.  She 
published  a  volume  of  poems  in  1792,  became  the 
wife  of  John  Richmond,  a  labourer  at  Loudoun 
Castle.  * 

(5)  The  postscript  was  written  in  the  centre  of 
a  quarto  page,  with  blank  or  "  clean  "  spaces  on  all 
sides  of  it. 

The  month  of  July  1789  has  hitherto  seemed 
almost  a  blank  month  in  Burns's  correspondence. 
The  only  letter  of  his  dated  in  this  month  that  has 
been  published  is  that  of  the  31st  to  Mr,  Graham  of 
Fintry.     We  are  able  to  present  the  two  which  follow 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      277 

—  of  the  7th  and  17th  —  from  the  Lochryan  MSS. 
To  his  ordinary  heavy  labours  the  poet  at  this  time 
had  added  the  negotiations  about  his  appointment  to 
the  Excise  division  in  the  midst  of  which  he  Hved, 
and  the  studies  which,  under  Mr.  Graham's  direction, 
he  pursued  in  order  to  fit  himself  for  his  new  duties. 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 
Dunlop  House,  Stewarton. 

ELLiSLANDy?</j/  jth,  1789. 

Yours  of  the  27th  June,  which  came  to  hand  yesternight, 
has  given  me  more  pain  than  any  letter,  one  excepted,  that 
I  ever  received.  How  could  you,  my  ever-honored,  dear 
Madam,  ask  me,  whether  I  had  given  up  your  correspond- 
ence, and  how  you  had  offended  me  ?  Offended  me ! 
Your  conduct  to  me,  Madam,  ever  since  I  was  honored 
with  your  notice,  has  been  equally  amiable  as  uncommon ; 
and  your  Correspondence  has  been  one  of  the  most  supreme 
of  my  sublunary  enjoyments.  As  I  mentioned  to  you  in  a 
letter  you  will  by  this  time  have  received,  I  have  since  I 
was  at  Dunlop  been  rather  hurried  and  out  of  spirits ;  and 
some  parts  of  your  late  conduct  has  laid  me  under  peculiar 
embarrassments.  You  had  alarmed  me  lest  that  instead  of 
the  friend  of  your  confidence,  I  was  descending  to  be  the 
creature  of  your  bounty ;  for  though  you  bestowed,  not  in 
the  manner  of  serving  me,  but  as  if  oblidging  yourself;  yet 
for  the  soul  of  me  I  could  not  help  feeling  something  of 
the  humihating  oppression  of  impotent  gratitude. 

July  %tk. 

I  have  been  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  my  aged  Parent 
and  my  brother ;  and  as  he  will  convey  this  as  far  as  Mauch- 
line  I  shall  finish  my  letter,  though  I  cannot  make  it  quite 


278  Correspondence  between 

so  long  as  I  had  otherwise  intended.  As  I  have  no  roman- 
tic notions  of  independancy  of  spirit,  I  am  truly  oblidged  to 
you  and  Dr.  Moore  for  mentioning  me  to  Mr.  Pulteney. 
From  the  manner  in  which  God  has  divided  the  good 
things  of  this  life,  it  is  evident  that  He  meant  one  part  of 
Mankind  to  be  the  Benefactors,  and  the  other  to  be  the 
Benefacted ;  and  as  He  has  thrown  me  among  this  latter 
class  I  would  wish  to  acquiesce  with  chearfulness.  The 
Professorship  is,  I  know,  to  me  an  unattainable  object,  but 
Mr.  Pulteney's  character  stands  high  as  a  Patron  of  merit, 
and  of  this,  had  I  no  other  proof,  you  have  made  me  be- 
lieve that  I  have  some  share. 

I  some  time  ago  met  with  the  following  Elegy  ^  in  MSS., 
for  I  suppose  it  was  never  printed,  and  as  I  think  it  has 
many  touches  of  the  true  tender,  I  shall  make  no  apology 
for  sending  it  you :  perhaps  you  have  not  seen  it. 

ELEGY 

Strait  is  the  spot  and  green  the  sod 

From  whence  my  sorrows  flow, 
And  soundly  sleeps  the  ever-dear 

Inhabitant  below. 

Pardon  my  transport,  gentle  Shade, 

"While  o'er  this  turf  I  bow; 
Thy  earthly  house  is  circumscribed 

And  solitary  now. 

Not  one  poor  stone  to  tell  thy  name, 

Or  make  thy  virtues  known ; 
But  what  avails  to  thee,  to  me, 

The  sculpture  of  a  stone  ? 

I  '11  sit  me  down  upon  this  turf. 

And  wipe  away  this  tear; 
The  chill  blast  passes  swiftly  by 

And  flits  around  thy  bier. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      279 


Dark  is  the  dwelling  of  the  dead, 

And  sad  their  house  of  rest ; 
Low  lies  the  dead  by  Death's  cold  arm 

In  aweful  fold  embraced. 

I  saw  the  grim  Avenger  stand 

Incessant  by  thy  side  ; 
Unseen  by  thee,  his  deadly  breath 

Thy  lingering  frame  destroyed. 

Pale  grew  the  roses  on  thy  cheek 

And  withered  was  thy  bloom,  » 

Till  the  slow  poison  brought  thy  youth 

Untimely  to  the  tomb. 

Thus  wasted  are  the  ranks  of  men. 

Youth,  health  and  beauty  fall ; 
The  ruthless  ruin  spreads  around 

And  overwhelms  us  all. 

Behold,  where  round  thy  narrow  house 

The  graves  unnumbered  lie ; 
The  multitudes  that  sleep  below 
Existed  but  to  die. 

Some  with  the  tottering  steps  of  age 

Trode  down  the  darksome  way  ; 
And  some  in  youth's  lamented  prime, 

Like  thee,  were  torn  away. 

Yet  these,  however  hard  their  fate. 

Their  native  earth  receives. 
Amid  their  weeping  friends  they  dyed 

And  fill  their  father's  graves. 

From  thy  loved  friends  where  first  thy  breath 

Was  taught  by  Heaven  to  flow, 
Far,  far  removed,  the  ruthless  stroke 

Surprised  and  laid  thee  low. 

At  the  last  limits  of  our  isle, 
Washed  by  the  western  wave. 


280  Correspondence  between 

Touched  by  thy  fate  a  thoughtful  bard 
Sits  lonely  on  thy  grave. 

Pensive  he  eyes,  before  him  spread, 

The  deep  outstretched  and  vast ; 
His  mourning  notes  are  borne  away 

Along  the  rapid  blast. 

And  while  amid  the  silent  dead 

Thy  hapless  fate  he  mourns, 
His  own  long  sorrows  freshly  bleed, 

And  all  his  grief  returns. 

Like  thee  cut  off  in  early  youth 

And  flower  of  beauty's  pride, 
His  friend,  his  first  and  only  joy, 

His  much-loved  Stella  died. 

Him  too  the  stern  impulse  of  fate 

Resistless  bears  along ; 
And  the  same  rapid  tide  shall  whelm 

The  Poet  and  the  song. 

The  tear  of  pity  which  he  shed 

He  asks  not  to  receive, 
Let  but  his  poor  remains  be  laid 

Obscurely  in  the  grave. 

His  grief-worn  heart  with  truest  joy 

Shall  meet  the  welcome  shock; 
His  airy  harp  shall  lie  unstrung 

And  silent  on  the  rock. 

O  my  dear  maid,  my  Stella,  when 

Shall  this  sick  period  close, 
And  lead  thy  solitary  Bard 

To  his  beloved  repose  ? 

I  have  marked  the  passages  that  strike  me  most.  I 
like  to  do  so  in  every  book  that  I  read,  and  it  will  be  a 
double  pleasure  in  perusing  the  volumes  you  announce 
me,  to  see  your  favorite  passages. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      281 

Poor  Mrs.  Henri !  I  shall  be  as  impatient  to  hear  news 
of  her  almost  as  I  shall  be  of  another  whom  I  need  not 
name.  I  hope  that  you  see  her  situation  through  the 
exaggerating  medium  of  fearful  apprehension. 

Farewell,  Madam !  God  send  good  news  to  us  all ! 
Do  me  the  justice  to  believe  me  when  I  assure  you  that 
there  is  scarcely  any  thing  in  life  which  gives  me  so  much 
pleasure  as  that  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Madam,  your 
oblidged  friend  and  humble  servt.  Robt.  Burns. 

(i)  This  description  of  the  origin  of  the  Elegy  on 
Stella  is  as  mystifying  as  that  prefixed  to  the  tran- 
script of  the  poem  in  the  Glenriddell  MS.  —  "The 
following  poem  is  the  work  of  some  hapless  son  of 
the  Muses  who  deserved  a  better  fate.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of '  The  voice  of  Cona '  in  his  solitary, 
mournful  notes;  and  had  the  sentiments  been  clothed 
in  Shenstone's  language,  they  would  have  been  no 
discredit  even  to  that  elegant  poet.  —  R.  B." 

Ad.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop, 
by  Stewarton. 

Ellisland,  i-jthjidy  1789. 

Dear  Madam,  —  I  assure  you  it  is  none  of  my  least  in- 
centives to  rhyme  that  it  gives  me  an  opportunity  not  only 
of  acknowledging,  but  you  are  good  enough  to  think,  in 
some  degree  of  repaying  that  hopeless  debt  of  kindness 
and  friendship  which  I  so  largely  owe  you.  You  know 
my  sentiments  respecting  the  present  two  great  parties 
that  divide  our  Scots  Ecclesiastics.  I  do  not  care  three 
farthings  for  Commentators  and  authorities.  An  honest, 
candid  enquirer  after  truth,  I  revere;  but  illiberality  and 


282  Correspondence  between 

wrangling  I  equally  detest.  You  will  be  well  acquainted 
with  the  persecutions  that  my  worthy  friend,  Dr.  M'Gill, 
is  undergoing  among  your  Divines.  Several  of  these  rev- 
erend lads,  his  opponents,  have  come  thro'  my  hands 
before ;  but  I  have  some  thoughts  of  serving  them  up 
again  in  a  different  dish.  I  have  just  sketched  the  fol- 
lowing ballad,  and  as  usual  I  send  the  first  rough-draught 
to  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  known  in  it,  tho'  I  know, 
if  ever  it  appear,  I  shall  be  suspected.  If  I  finish  it,  I  am 
thinking  to  throw  off  two  or  three  dozen  copies  at  a  Press 
in  Dumfries,  and  send  them  as  from  Edinr.  to  some 
Ayrshire  folks  on  both  sides  of  the  question.  If  I  should 
fail  of  rendering  some  of  the  Doctor's  foes  ridiculous, 
I  shall  at  least  gratify  my  resentment  in  his  behalf.  I 
long  to  hear  from  you,  not  only  for  your  criticism  on  this, 
but  for  a  much  more  important  matter,  to  be  informed  of 
Mrs.  Henri's  fate  and  welfare.  Whatever  interests  you, 
can  not  be  indifferent  to  me. 

THE  KIRK'S  ALARM  1  — A  BALLAD 

Tune  —  "  Push  about  the  brisk  bowl " 

Orthodox,  Orthodox,  who  believe  in  John  Knox, 
Let  me  sound  an  alarm  to  your  conscience ; 

There 's  a  heretic  blast  has  been  blawn  i'  the  west  — 
*'  That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  nonsense,"  Orthodox, 
"  That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  nonsense." 

Doctor  Mac,2  Doctor  Mac,  ye  should  stretch  on  a  rack, 

To  strike  evildoers  wi'  terror  ; 
To  join  FAITH  and  sense,  upon  any  pretence, 

Was  heretic,  damnable  error.  Doctor  Mac, 

Was  heretic,  damnable  error. 

Town  of  Ayr,  Town  of  Ayr,  it  was  rash,  I  declare, 
To  meddle  wi'  mischief  a  brewing ; 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      283 

Provost  John  '  is  still  deaf  to  the  church's  relief, 
And  Orator  Bob  *  is  its  ruin,  etc. 

D'rymple  mild,  D'rymple  mild,  tho'  your  heart 's  like  a  child 

And  your  life  like  the  new-driven  snaw, 
Yet  that  winna  save  ye,  old  Satan  must  have  ye, 

For  preaching  that  three  's  ane  and  twa,  etc. 

Calvin's  sons,  Calvin's  sons,  seize  your  spiritual  guns, 

Ammunition  ye  never  can  need  ; 
Your  hearts  are  the  stuff  will  be  powder  enough, 

And  your  sculls  are  a  storehouse  o'  lead,  etc. 

Rumble  John,5  Rumble  John,  mount  the  steps  with  a.  groan. 

Cry  the  Book  is  wi'  heresy  cramm'd. 
Then  lug  out  your  ladle,  deal  brimstone  like  aidle,  muck-water 

And  roar  every  note  o'  the  d — mn'd,  etc. 

Simper  James,s  Simper  James,  leave  the  fair  Killie  dames, 

There 's  a  holier  chase  in  your  view  ! 
I  '11  lay  on  your  head  that  the  pack  ye  '11  soon  lead. 

For  puppies  like  you  there  's  but  few,  etc. 

Singet  Sawnie,'  Singet  Sawnie,  are  ye  herding  the  penny, 

Unconscious  what  danger  awaits  ; 
With  a  jump,  yell  and  howl,  alarm  every  soul, 

For  Hannibal 's  just  at  your  gates,  etc. 

Daddie  Auld,  Daddie  Auld,  there  's  a  tod  i'  the  fauld,       fox 

A  tod  meikle  waur  than  the  Clerk,^ 
Douglas,  Heron  and  Co.  has  e'en  laid  you  fu'  low, 

But  tho'  ye  canna  bite  ye  may  bark,  etc. 

Poet  Willie,9  Poet  Willie,  gie  the  Doctor  a  volley, 

Wi'  your  "  liberty's  chain  "  and  your  wit : 
O'er  Pegasus'  side  ye  ne'er  laid  a  stride. 

Ye  only  stood  by  where  he ,  etc. 

Jamie  Goose,!"  Jamie  Goose,  ye  hae  made  but  toom  roose    empty  boast 

In  hunting  the  wicked  Lieutenant,'^ 
But  the  Doctor  's  your  mark,  for  the  L 's  holy  ark 

He  has  couper'd  and  ca'd  a  wrang  pin  in,  etc.  driven 


284  Correspondence  between 


This  is  all  the  length  I  have  gone.^^     Whether  I  proceed 
any  farther  is  uncertain. 

Captn.  Grose,"  the  well-known  author  of  the  Antiquities 
of  England  and  Wales,  has  been  through  Annandale,  Niths- 
dale  and  Galloway,  in  the  view   of  commencing  another 
Publication,  The  Antiquities  of  Scotland.     As  he  has  made 
his  headquarters  with  Captn.  Riddel,  my  nearest  neighbour, 
for  these  two  months,  I  am  intimately  acquainted  with  him  ; 
and  I  have  never  seen  a  man  of  more  original  observation, 
anecdote  and  remark.     Thrown  into  the  army  from   the 
Nursery,    and   now  that  he   is  the   father  of  a  numerous 
family,  who  are  all  settled  in  respectable  situations  in  life, 
he  has  mingled  in  all  societies,  and  knows  every  body.    His 
delight  is  to  steal  thro'  the  country  almost  unknown,  both 
as  most  favorable  to  his  humour  and  his  business.     I  have 
to  the  best  of  my  recollection  of  the  old  buildings,  etc.,  in 
the  County,  given  him  an  Itinerary  thro'  Ayrshire.     I  have 
directed  him  among  other  places  to  Dunlop  House,  as  an 
old  building  worthy  of  a  place  in  his  Collection.     It  would 
have  been  presumption  in  such  a  man  as  I,  to  offer  an  in- 
troductory letter  between  such  folks  as  Captn.  Grose  and 
Major  Dunlop,  tho'  for  the  honour  of  my  native  county,  I 
could  have  wished  that  Captn.  Grose  had  been  introduced  to 
the  Dunlop  family,  and  the  Major  would  have  been  of  much 
use  to  him  in  directing  him  thro'   the  farther  corner  of 
Cunningham,  a  place  I  little  know ;  however  if  you  dis- 
cover  a  chearful-looking  grig  of  an   old,  fat   fellow,  the 
precise  figure  of  Doctor  Slop,  wheeling  about  your  avenue 
in  his  own  carriage  with  a  pencil  and  paper  in  his  hand, 
you  may  conclude  "  Thou  art  the  man." 

Perhaps  after  all,  I  may  pluck  up  as  much   impudent 
importance  as  write  to  the  Major  by  him.     He  will  go  for 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      285 

Ayrshire  in  four  or  five  days,  but  I  have  directed  him  thro' 
Carrick  and  Kyle  first.  —  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  Madam, 
your  humble  friend  and  most  obedient  servt. 

RoBT.  Burns. 

(i)  "  Lament  "  deleted  and  "  Alarm  "  written  in  as 
a  second  thought. 

(2)  Dr.  M'Gill.  (3)  Provost  Ballantine. 

(4)  Robert  Aiken.  (5)  Russell. 
(6)  M'Kindlay.  (7)  Moodie. 

(5)  G.  Hamilton,  writer. 

(9)    Peebles ;  see  a  poem  he  published  on  the  Revolution  thanks- 
giving, 
(ic)  Young,  New  Cumnock. 
(11)    Lieut.  Mitchel,  Deleagles. 

Notes  (2)  to  (11)  are  Burns's,  written  in  the 
margins  of  the  copy.  No  attempt  is  made  here  to 
supplement  his  annotations. 

(12)  This  letter  antedates  the  composition  of  "  The 
Kirk's  Alarm."  Hitherto  no  earlier  copy  has  been 
known  than  that  which  Burns  sent  to  John  Logan 
on  7th  August,  and  which  is  complete  but  for  one 
stanza.  The  Presbytery  took  action  in  Dr.  M'Gill's 
case  on  15th  July  ;  so  the  poet  must  have  written  off 
at  a  heat  these  eleven  stanzas,  which  he  forwarded 
to  Mrs.  Dunlop  on  the  17th.  The  complete  poem 
contains  eighteen  stanzas. 

(13)  The  "fine,  fat,  fodgel  wight,"  for  whose  An- 
tiqinties  of  Scotland  "  Tam  o'  Shanter  "  was  written. 
This  is  the  first  mention  of  him  in  Burns's  corre- 
spondence. 


286  Correspondence  between 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

Elliesland,  Dumfries.  -r.  .  .,      .       o 

DuNLOP,  ij/.^M^A  1789. 

[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinburgh,  Third  August  1789.] 
Dr.  Burns,  —  Where,  my  ever  esteemed  friend,  shall  I 
begin  my  letter?  Methinks  I  hear  the  voice  just  set  to  the 
shrill  key  of  satire  answer  "  I  have  many  a  time  seen  you 
not  know  where  to  end  one."  But  should  wit  prompt  this, 
I  will  not  believe  your  judgment  or  inclination  seconds  the 
sally.  On  the  contrary,  you  have  convinced  me  my  letters 
in  general  give  you  pleasure  by  persuading  me  one  of  them 
has  given  you  pain,  —  an  effect,  I  'm  sure,  the  writer  of  them 
never  meant  to  produce,  though,  as  the  cause  was  my  com- 
plaint of  your  silence,  and  I  have  found  your  grief  productive 
of  repentance,  I  must  own  I  for  once  rejoice  in  your  sorrow 
and  profit  by  your  amendment.  I  have  received  two  of  yours 
since  I  presumed,  perhaps  improperly,  to  murmur  at  not 
hearing  from  you,  instead  of  expressing  my  gratitude  for 
the  part  of  your  time  —  a  part  so  much  more  than  I  can 
deserve  or  return  —  which  you  had  so  kindly  stole  from  the 
rest  of  the  world  to  dedicate  to  me.  You  tell  me  writing 
to  me  is  an  incentive  to  rhyme.  If  so,  ages  unborn  shall 
bless  and  thank  my  memory,  for  one  rhyme  will  lead  to 
another,  and  the  breathings  of  a  truly  poetic  soul  will  be 
often  such  as  will  soothe  the  anguish  of  the  wounded  spirit, 
and  elevate  the  mind  sunk  in  despondency.  Even  the  airy 
bubble  blown  by  levity  as  long  as  the  eye  can  follow  it 
steals  us  from  this  world's  woes,  and  though  it  instantly 
burst  if  we  regard  the  hand  it  fell  from,  we  watch  the  drop- 
ping of  the  next  as  eagerly  as  a  child  that  looks  for  soap 
bells  glittering  a  moment  to  the  sun  before  they  are  forever 
lost  in  empty  air.  True,  they  did  not  please  long ;  but 
which  of  our  worldly  enjoyments  do?     Besides,  they  cost 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      287 


no  trouble  to  the  maker.     'Twas  but  a  puff;  his  breath  is 
unexhausted,  and  ready  to  blow  off  a  thousand  more  as  long 
as  they  can  divert  himself  or  please  us  children  of  the 
world.     Perhaps,  too,  some  of  these  brittle  bells  may,  like 
brittle  china,  be  rouped  off  by  the  candle  before  they  are 
broken,  and  bring  in  more,  while  in  fashion,  than  a  better 
thing  could  do.     Time  or  place  sometimes  imprint  a  local 
value  that  will  rise  and  fall  quicker  than  the  stocks,   per- 
haps sink  100  per  cent  by   to-morrow  in  the  auction    of 
wit.     'T  is  hard  to  say  how  the  sales  run.     Her  cap,  like 
that  of  Liberty,  is  sometimes  plain  and  solid,  of  inestimable 
value ;  sometimes  light,  and  hung  round  with  bells ;  some- 
times guarded  with  squibs  and  crackers,  such  as  a  certain 
friend  of  mine,  trying  on  said  cap  t'  other  day,  shaked  off 
with  an  angry  toss  of  his  head  at  the  presbytery  when  they 
were  seating  themselves  to  furnish  a  drawing  of  the  Holy 
Inquisition.     I  fear,  however,  they  will  show  their  noble 
perseverance  by  continuing  till  the  last  act,  and  giving  an 
auto-de-fe,  in  which  I  wish  they  may  allow  the  Dr.  to  get 
away  without  the  Benitor  [san  benito]  —  I  believe  they 
call  the  robe  they  march  to  be  burnt  in,  and  which  it  would 
give  a  sacred  satisfaction  to  the  Auld  gentleman  to  fit  on  a 
worthy  man  before   he  left  the  world,  perhaps  as  much  as 
he  formerly  felt  in  lighting  up  the  ignis  fatuus  spark  that 
misled  the  same  court  to  persecute  one  of  the   first  men 
ever  adorned  the  priesthood  through  fourteen  presbyteries, 
four  or  five  synods,  and  two  General  Assemblies,  for  having 
once,  some  years  before  he  was  admitted  one  of  the  num- 
ber, gone  twice  the  figure   eight  at  a  wedding.     Now,  my 
friend,  having  some  partiality  for  my  female  taste,  asks  my 
opinion  of  fancy's  toys  sometimes,  particularly  of  this  last 
cap  she  wore.     What  shall  I  say  ?     Shall  I  satirize  satire,  or 


288  Correspondence  between 

hold  the  match  to  fire  her  future  squibs?  In  truth,  I  be- 
heve  I  will  do  neither.  All  I  can  afford  is  to  laugh  a  few 
minutes  at  these  King's-birthday  frolicks  and  fireworks.  I 
did  so  heartily,  but,  my  dr.  Burns,  I  am  now  in  the  last 
evenings  of  my  life  ;  the  bright  torch  of  your  genius  is 
perhaps  the  last  I  shall  ever  see  lighted,  and  I  grudge 
extremely  to  see  it  wasted  singeing  musketoes  in  a  cor- 
ner, instead  of  being  set  on  a  hill  where  it  cannot  be  hid, 
and  giving  light  to  the  world.  Besides,  I  cannot  help  being 
afraid  that,  instead  of  relieving  the  Dr.,  and  putting  his 
enemies  to  shame,  you  may  be  blowing  the  horn  for  a  new 
chase  against  one  of  his  friends,  and  a  man  who  rivals  him 
in  innocent  simplicity  and  goodness  of  heart.     But  I  need 

not  tell  you  what  D r  Mild  is  when  you  have  painted 

him  so  strongly  and  in  his  true  natural  colours,  as  like  a 
picture  as  ever  was  sketched  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  Yet 
should  your  ballad  lead  the  puppies  full  cry  a  heretic-hunt- 
ing, you  '11  wish  you  had  bit  your  tongue  rather  than  given 
the  view-hollo,  and  cast  off  a  whole  pack  of  blood-hounds 
against  a  poor  little  white  rabbit.  Should  this  happen,  I 
verily  think  it  would  be  the  blackest  sin  you  ever  com- 
mitted, and  I  'm  sure  I  would  sympathize  with  your  peni- 
tential pangs,  which  could  not  fail  of  being  very  acute,  were 
you  to  hurt  one  whom  all  mankind  ought  to  love,  for  he 
loves  them  all,  and  if  he  sometimes  scolds  them  in  the  pul- 
pit, he  means  it  all  for  their  own  good.  As  for  the  rest  of 
your  game,  I  am  thankful  I  don't  know  one  of  them ;  but 
since  they  are  beasts  of  prey,  't  is  fair  to  annoy  them  on 
their  own  account.  Yet  I  have  known  an  otter  turn  and 
lame  a  man  for  life  who  pursued  him  for  his  skin.  And 
will  it  not  be  more  provoking  still  to  meet  mischief  where 
nothing  is  to  be  got  but  a  vile  guff  of  rank  malice  which 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     289 

one  would  be  glad  to  run  out  of  the  reach  of.  'T  is  strange 
how  I  go  on  when  I  set  a  scribbling  to  you  —  I  who  never 
almost  now  scribble  to  any  one  else,  and  have  not  yet  men- 
tioned what  you  were  so  good  as  say  interested  you  most, 
the  health  of  my  poor  Susan,  She  is  better,  and  I  would 
now  fain  hope  may  carry  about  her  child  the  full  time,  and 
improve  in  strength  aftem'ards,  as  the  wise  people  about  her 
flatter  me  she  has  no  threatening  symptoms  remaining  —  a 
fact  for  which,  however,  I  have  hardly  full  faith ;  but  I  dare 
not  pry  too  far  in  futurity.  We  have  no  accounts  of  An- 
thony yet,  and  't  is  there  I  feel  myself  most  vulnerable,  tho' 
I  cannot  say  why.  May  the  God  of  earth  and  ocean  guard 
him  !  His  heart  is  the  monument  where  my  memory,  I 
think,  will  be  longest  enshrined.  There  is  a  tenderness  in 
his  filial  piety  I  never  saw  any  other  possess.  Never  can  I 
forget  the  proofs  I  once  saw  of  it,  and  if  my  soul  anticipates 
that  lingering  look  our  departed  spirits  cast  back  to  earth, 
't  is  to  hope  I  will  live  in  his  mind  united  to  his  father. 

My  cares  are  at  present  cruelly  divided.  I  believe  I 
must  go  a  while  to  the  east  country,  and  that  John's  wife 
will  not  admit  of  my  remaining  till  the  last  with  Susan. 
Poor  thing  !  she  has  no  friend  but  myself  to  trust  to  for  the 
care  of  herself,  her  former  son  and  a  family  they  can  in  no 
way  afford  to  have  neglected.  The  other  is  still  amongst 
her  friends,  and  almost  still  in  the  bosom  of  her  own  family. 
I  shall  therefore  endeavour  to  add  my  mite  of  comfort  to 
those  who  have  most  need  of  it.  Yet  I  will  hope  to  hear  of 
you  and  yours  before  I  leave  home,  as  I  shall  not  go  for  a 
fortnight  longer,  nor  till  I  have  carried  home  Lady  Wallace 
to  Loudoun,  and  seen  how  they  all  go  on ;  so  that  you  may 
write  me  here  till  I  furnish  you  a  new  address,  before  which 
time  I  shall  hope  to  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Burns  and  her  child 
VOL.  I.  — 19 


290  Correspondence  between 

being  as  well  as  can  be  expected,  getting  your  strictures  on 
Zeluco,  and  your  telling  me  as  much  as  you  chuse  to  tell  me 
of  the  plan  you  were  engaged  in  when  I  saw  you  last.  The 
news  of  the  day  here  is  that  Col.  FuUarton  ^  is  gone  to  Con- 
stantinople with  the  first  recommendations  ever  given  to 
any  British  man  to  serve  in  the  Turkish  Army.  I  think  he 
is  wrong,  but  his  is  a  glorious  ambition,  the  fault  of  heroes 
and  of  gods.  I  wish  to  God  he  had  been  my  son,  or,  as  the 
King  said  of  General  Wolff,  that  he  had  bit  my  eldest  son 
and  infected  him  with  half  his  own  enterprize  of  spirit,  which 
has  already  commanded  civil  and  military  applause,  fame, 
and  fortune.  I  wonder  if,  like  the  Great  Frederick,  he  is 
insensible  to  love.  I  wish  he  were  as  fond  of  a  daughter 
of  mine  as  ever  you  were  of  your  Jean.  Would  it  not  be  a 
noble  conquest,  worthy  the  blood  of  Wallace  ?  Yet  many 
a  hero  would  make  a  wretched  bad  husband,  and  perhaps 
even  he  might  be  of  that  number.  At  least,  as  I  shall  have 
very  little  chance  of  him  for  a  son-in-law,  I  shall  comfort 
myself  in  remembering  that  this  is  no  impossibility.  Fare- 
well, but  I  trust  not  a  long  farewell,  while  you  possess  so 
much  of  the  esteem  and  best  wishes  of 

Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

Your  fat  merry  grig  has  not  appeared  that  I  have  heard  of 
yet,  but  I  mentioned  him  to  Andrew,  who  says  he  knew 
one  of  the  name  at  Gibraltar  a  good  many  years  ago,  and 
will  be  glad  to  renew  the  acquaintance,  if  it  is  the  same,  or 
if  not,  I  think  will  not  be  dissatisfied  to  begin  a  new  score 
wherever  you  mark  the  page.  I  am  grown  so  blind  I  doubt 
I  must  give  up  letter-writing,  or  you  will  give  up  reading 
first,  for  it  will  soon  be  impossible  even  for  myself.  While 
you  can  make  it  out  yet,  let  me  tell  you  I  have  marked 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     291 

your  "  Ode  to  Mrs  A 's  Memory,"  "  Address  to  the 

Regency  Bill,"  last  "Elegy,"  and  "Afton  Water,"  as  worthy 
of  immortal  preservation  from  the  press:  the  "Hare"  I 
know  you  noted  yourself,  and  vanity  prompts  my  wishing 
you  to  recollect  your  New  Year's  Day,  Eighty-nine  imploy- 
ment  without  recantation.  I  now  leave  you  to  congratu- 
late my  worthy  friend  Kerr  on  his  promotion.^  I  like  him 
the  better  that  he  has  taste  to  distinguish  the  Scots  Bard  as 
the  only  man  in  whose  favours  he  exerts  his  priviledge  of 
franking.  I  wish  all  the  rest  of  the  world  who  had  the 
power  of  rewarding  merit  shared  as  much  in  the  predi- 
lection of,  Dr.  Burns,  your  sincere  friend,  and  obedient, 
humble  sert. 

(i)  Colonel  William  Fullarton  of  Fullarton  (see 
antea,  p.  14),  at  this  time  forty-five  years  of  age; 
"  Brydone's  brave  ward  "  of  the  "  Vision."  He  did 
not  spend  the  rest  of  his  life  in  the  service  of  the 
Turkish  government,  for,  as  previously  noted,  he 
entered  the  British  Parliament  in  1796,  and  sat  till 
1803,  and  he  was  subsequently  governor  of  Trinidad. 

(2)  Probably  to  the  Secretaryship  of  the  Post 
Office. 

Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop. 

N.  B.     Just  now) 
..  T      J      r-    ..1    (  Missent  to  Stewarton. 
at  Loudon  Castle  >  ^  .  ,       r. 

near  Kilmarnock.  )  Postage  paid  at  Stewarton. 

Ellisland,  \<^th  August  1789. 

Dear  Madam,  —  I  had  written  you  ere  this  time  but  for 
waiting  the  issue  of  two  to  me  important  events  which  were 
hanging  in  the  wind.  I  mentioned  to  you  my  Excise  hopes 
and  views.  I  have  been  once  more  a  lucky  fellow  in  that 
quarter.     The  Excisemen's  Salaries  are  now  ;^5o  per  ann.. 


292  Correspondence  between 

and  I  believe  the  Board  have  been  so  oblidging  as  fix  me  in 
the  Division  in  which  I  Hve ;  and  I  suppose  I  shall  begin 
doing  duty  at  the  commencement  of  next  month.^  I  shall 
have  a  large  portion  of  country,  but,  what  to  me  and  my 
studies  is  no  trifling  matter,  it  is  a  fine  romantic  Country. 

More  luck  still !  About  two  hours  ago  I  welcomed  home 
your  little  Godson.^  He  is  a  fine  squalling  fellow,  with  a 
pipe  that  makes  the  room  ring.     His  Mother  as  usual. 

Zeluco  I  have  not  thoroughly  read  so  as  to  give  a  critique 
on  it.  To  say  it  is  an  excellent  performance  is  but  echoing 
the  opinion  of  the  world  :  I  shall  be  more  particular  in  my 
remarks. 

You  will  easily  guess  that  in  the  present  situation  of  my 
family,  and  in  my  preparations  for  the  Excise,  that  I  have 
indeed  little  spare  time.  To  you,  Madam,  that  little  spare 
time  is  more  chearfully  devoted  than  to  any  other  person  or 
purpose. 

Miss  Charlotte  Smith  has  delighted  me.  Her  Elegy  in 
particular  is  one  of  the  first  performances  that  I  have  ever 
seen.  Your  pencil  has  in  every  mark  prevented  mine.  —  I 
have  the  honor  to  be.  Dear  Madam,  your  oblidged,  grateful 
humble  servt.,  Robt.  Burns. 

P-  S.  —  The  following  lines  I  sent  Mr.  Graham  as  my 
thanks  for  my  appointment :  — 

3  I  call  no  goddess  to  inspire  my  strains, 
A  fabled  Muse  may  suit  a  Bard  that  feigns : 
"  Friend  of  my  life !  "  my  ardent  spirit  burns, 
And  all  the  tribute  of  my  heart  returns, 
For  boons  accorded,  goodness  ever  new, 
The  Gift  still  dearer  as  the  Giver  you. 

Thou  Orb  of  Day !     Thou  other  Paler  Light  I 
And  all  ye  many-sparkling  Stars  of  Night  I 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      293 

If  aught  that  Giver  from  my  mind  efface  ; 

If  I  that  Giver's  bounty  e'er  disgrace ; 

Thou  roll,  to  me,  along  your  wandering  spheres, 

Only  to  number  out  a  villain's  years  ! 

*  I  lay  my  hand  upon  my  swelling  breast, 
And  grateful  would  —  but  cannot  speak  the  rest. 

(i)  Scott  Douglas  suggested  that  Burns  did  not 
commence  duty  as  an  exciseman  till  the  beginning  of 
November.  In  the  new  Chambers,  vol.  iii.  p.  96,  on 
the  strength  of  an  entry  in  "  List  of  all  the  Divisions, 
officers,  expectants,  etc.,  in  Scotland  as  they  stand  at 
10th  October  1789,"  it  is  inferred  that  he  entered 
upon  his  duties  immediately  on  receiving  the  appoint- 
ment, i.  c.  about  the  beginning  of  August.  This 
letter  shows  that  he  expected  at  least  to  start  at  the 
beginning  of  September. 

(2)  Francis  Wallace,  born  i8th  August  1789,  died 
9th  July  1803. 

(3)  This  sonnet  is  dated  in  the  original  MS.,  lOth 
August. 

(4)  These  two  lines  are  not,  as  the  editors  of  the 
Centenary  Burns  say  they  are,  wanting  in  the  Loch- 
ryan  MS. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns, 

Elliesland,  Dumfries.        ,-.  ^7   ..   _.      o 

Dunlop,  20th  Augt.  1789. 

[Franked  by  Kerr :  Edinburgh,  Twenty-fourth  August  1789.] 

Dr.  Burns,  —  ^\^^y  have  you  not  wrote  me  ?  Is  this, 
like  most  of  our  misfortunes,  my  own  fault?  Did  I  not  tell 
you  I  was  uncertain  as  to  my  place  of  destination?  Nay, 
did  I  not  hint  at  some  fear  your  letter  might  never  reach 
me?     Indeed,  there  is  no  part  of  my  property  for  which 


294  Correspondence  between 


I  would  feel  more  anxious  concern  than  the  safety  of  my 
letters  from  the  very  few  friends  with  whom  I  keep  up  any 
sort  of  correspondence,  or  rather  to  whom  I  sometimes 
write ;  for  't  is  now  many  years  since  I  could  be  said  to 
maintain  any  regular  intercourse  by  letter  even  with  my 
absent  children.  How  strange  must  this  appear  to  you 
who  I  have  perfectly  persecuted  with  a  correspondence, 
who  has  been  haunted  with  my  letters  in  whole  volumes ; 
and  who,  I  dare  say,  has  even  felt  it  often  an  encroach- 
ment on  your  time  to  give  them  a  cursory  glance  of  an  eye 
while  you  were  thinking  on  something  else ;  or,  if  you 
really  favoured  them  with  your  attention,  would  hardly 
ever  meet  anything  that  could  deserve  or  reward  it ;  who 
have,  nevertheless,  had  the  goodness  to  write  me  often  to 
flatter  my  self-love  by  the  kind  and  obliging  manner  in 
which  you  did  it  to  amuse  and  interest  me  by  the  com- 
munication of  your  ideas  in  verse  and  prose,  and  sometimes 
raise  me  in  my  own  esteem  by  an  apparent  confidence  you 
seemed  to  repose  in  me,  and  a  certain  partial  regard  which 
seemed  to  distinguish  me  more  than  I  ought  to  have  ex- 
pected among  the  multitudes  whom  your  fame  had  ren- 
dered emulous  of  your  notice.  Believe  me,  you  never  used 
the  slightest  expression  which  vanity  could  construe  in  her 
own  favours,  that  I  did  not  read  with  grateful  delight,  proud 
even  to  draw  compliment  itself  from  your  pen,  for  even 
compliment  indicates  a  desire  to  please ;  and  what  so 
pleasing  as  that  wish  in  one  who,  without  ever  thinking  of 
the  matter,  had  hit  on  the  way  of  pleasing  all  the  world 
beside?  I  believe  I  have  formerly  told  you  I  had  an 
unbounded  wish  once  in  my  life  to  have  seen  the  King  of 
Prussia  and  Dr.  Oliver  Goldsmith.  After  reading  your 
works,  I  was  seized  with  the  like  to  know  you.     This  was 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      295 

the  more  particular,  as  at  that  time  my  mind  was  in  so  tor- 
pid a  state  as  hardly  to  admit  any  suggestion  entitled  to  the 
name  of  a  wish ;  indeed  this  was  rather  confined  to  an 
emotion  of  curiosity,  and  fully  exprest  in  these  lines  — 

Let  me  each  cranny  of  that  soul  peruse 
Admire  that  man  and  wonder  at  that  muse. 

But  never  did  I  once  suppose  either  he  or  his  Muse  in  the 
course  of  their  studies  would  make  the  pause  required  for  a 
single  comma  to  peruse  anything  I  could  offer  to  their  view. 
I  only  run  and  cried  "  Holla  !  "  to  stop  the  passengers  till 
I  should  have  a  full  look  at  them.  They  run  on,  peeping 
a  little  behind  as  I  came  up,  when  at  last,  pleased  or  per- 
haps only  diverted  at  my  awkward  eagerness  in  the  chase, 
instead  of  stopping  with  the  Irish  intrepidity  of  the  beauti- 
ful Miss  Gunnings,  who  bid  the  mob  gaze  their  fills,  you,  to 
my  inexpressible  satisfaction,  reached  me  a  friendly  hand, 
and  even  bid  your  INIuse  herself  help  to  raise  me  out  of  that 
Gulph  of  Despond  in  which  my  very  soul  was  then  im- 
mersed. She  sprung  on  with  reviving  energy  at  the  un- 
hoped-for aid,  and  fluttered  a  while  like  a  butterfly  in 
winter,  who  appears  all  alive  and  well,  but  that  is  soon  over 
with  her,  and  I  believe  with  me  too.  A  thousand  anxieties 
at  this  moment  tear  me  to  pieces.  Anguish  rebounds  upon 
me  from  beyond  the  Indian  Ocean.  I  hear  nothing  of  my 
dear  Anton.  His  dog,  all  he  had  to  leave  behind  him,  is 
suddenly  dead.  Superstition  is  ever  alive  when  we  are 
unhappy.  Last  night  his  howl  alarmed  me  for  his  master ; 
to-day  his  everlasting  silence  speaks  a  direful  presage  to  my 
heart.  I  have  just  rent  myself  from  poor  Susan,  round  whom 
teeming  sorrows  crowd  which  I  cannot  disperse.  The  com- 
motions of  France  strike  at  my  peace,  and  my  daughter-in- 
law's  situation  calls  me  to  a  divided  duty;  I  cannot  say 


296  Correspondence  between 

which  will  be  foremost.  I  believe  neither  of  these  ladies 
will  be  for  a  month  yet.  I  shall,  if  no  unforseen  circum- 
stance prevent  me,  be  with  the  poorest  and  most  helpless 
(John's  wife),  but  will  not  leave  this  for  a  fortnight  yet. 
So,  pray  do  write  me  during  that  time,  if  possible,  but 
don't  say  my  conduct  ever  hurts  you,  or  suppose  you  can 
change  your  place  in  my  friendship,  unless  to  take  a  higher. 
I  wish  to  God  your  promotion  in  life  could  keep  pace  with 
your  permanent  rank  in  my  regard  or  goodwill.  I  must 
acknowledge  you  have  not  indeed  risen  without  purchase, 
since  you  have  given  yourself  frequent  trouble  to  preserve 
what  you  owed  to  merit  alone,  and  could  not  be  robbed  of 
without  injustice.  What  others  may  despise,  but  what  you 
teach  me  to  value  (my  friendship),  you  say  has  added  to 
your  happiness.  That  makes  it  inestimable  in  my  own 
eyes,  and  I  will  in  future  be,  if  possible,  still  more  wary  on 
whom  I  bestow  it.  Yet  how  shall  I  say  so,  since  hitherto 
it  has  always  been  an  involuntary  gift,  and  I  much  doubt 
will  always  remain  so,  spite  of  every  caveat  reason  can 
enter.  Reason,  with  all  her  pretentions,  is  only  human, 
and  therefore  apt  to  err.  Those  native  impulses  which 
sometimes  leads  our  approbation,  or  rather  choice  of  our 
most  intimate  friends,  resembles  instinct,  which  is  some- 
where called  the  voice  of  God,  and  therefore  must  be  right. 
At  least,  as  I  have  always  found  it  productive  of  most 
happiness,  both  in  prospect  and  reality,  I  am  resolved  to 
encourage  a  pleasing  delusion  which  has  never  yet  hurt  me, 
but  to  which  I  have  been  indebted  for  the  most  enviable 
moments  of  my  existence  —  a  propensity  which  prompted 
me  to  cultivate  your  acquaintance  when  I  was  flying  that  of 
the  world,  and  which  procured  a  favourable  reception  for 
those  scrawls  with  which  I  presumed  to  intrude  upon  you 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     297 

before  you  had,  like  Ahasuerus,  held  out  the  golden  scepter 
of  kind  consent  with  which  you  have  now  sanctioned  my 
approach,  and  interested  me  in  every  thing  that  interests 
you,  not  only  as  a  poet,  but  as  a  friend,  to  whom  I 
consider  myself  as  under  everlasting  obligations,  such, 
indeed,  as  I  trust  in  God  I  shall  never  again  owe  to  any 
one  ;  for  I  hope  Providence  will  close  my  eyes  without  any 
future  event  being  able  to  sink  me  in  such  melancholy  as 
had  overwhelmed  me  when  chance  first  threw  your  writings 
in  my  hand,  and  the  singularity  of  the  Kilmarnock  title- 
page  induced  me  to  investigate  their  merit.  I  found  there 
strains  Uke  the  Tomb  of  Becket,  fit  to  awake  the  dead.  I 
read,  then  write.  My  knell,  which  seemed  ringing  out,  was 
turned  into  chimes,  for,  like  Falstaff,  you  were  not  only 
moral  and  witty,  but  caused  it  in  others ;  and  tho'  my 
chimes  were  perhaps  but  fools'  bells,  they  helped  to  divert 
the  child  who  rung  them,  but  whose  mind  was  unsuited  to 
other  occupations,  and  were  generally  addrest  to  you. 
Since  I  have  resumed  some  care  of  my  family,  of  which  I 
was  long  incapable,  I  lift  the  pen  seldomer,  and  my  needle, 
or  the  varied  concerns  of  those  children  for  whom  I  live, 
oftener  employs  my  hand  and  my  mind,  so  that,  were  it 
worth  your  while  to  think  of  me  at  all,  I  'm  apprehensive 
you  might  believe  me  whimsical  and  unsteady  in  cultivation 
of  that  friendship  I  had  so  eagerly  solicited. 

I  am  just  returned  from  Loudoun.  The  greatness  of 
the  place,  where  ;^8ooo  a  year  more  than  the  income  of 
the  estate  had  been  spent,  and  so  fine  a  fortune  ruined ;  the 
respectability  of  the  old  Earl's  ^  character  as  a  landlord  and 
master  in  his  private  capacity,  that  sacred  shrine  in  which 
he  still  lives,  sainted  the  warm,  affectionate  hearts  of  his  yet 
remaining  servants  and  dependant  pensioners ;   when  I  add 


298  Correspondence  between 

to  these  the  mean  venality  of  his  public  political  life,  mus- 
ing on  all  together  as  I  wandered  through  those  sweet, 
serpentine  hermit's  paths  which  he  had  consecrated  to  prof- 
ligacy and  Miss  Mason,  I  cannot  help  saying  within  myself. 
What  is  man,  or  to  what  end  is  he  created  or  endowed  with 
so  heterogeneous  a  mixture  of  vice  and  virtue,  fervour  and 
folly?  Why  did  he  who  made  hundreds  happy  ruin  him- 
self? Why  was  so  connubial  a  mind  destined  for  celibacy? 
Had  the  Earl  only  been  fond  of  this  girl,  one  might  have 
exclaimed  with  Pope,  "  Health,  fame,  fortune,  what  art  thou 
to  love?"  But  when  they  follow  him  to  London,  that  idea 
which  might  adorn  the  fete  champetre  disappears  in  the 
crowd  of  demoiselles  amongst  whom  Kate  Walker's  gray 
hairs  shine  a  badge  of  constancy  that  in  wedded  life  had 
done  honor  to  the  Scots  peerage.  After  all,  this  man's 
benevolence  of  heart  embalms  his  memory,  and  I  weep 
over  the  alienation  of  property  and  want  of  lineal  repre- 
sentatives of  John,  Earl  of  Loudoun,  who  provided  for  the 
posterity  or  declining  age  of  every  thing  that  had  ever 
been  about  him,  and  eclipsed  the  remembrance  of  his  suc- 
cessor, to  whose  gentle  goodness  you  were  no  stranger,  but 
whose  name  is  never  pronounced  now  in  that  place  where 
misfortune  ended  his  days,  and  has  buried  his  former  life  in 
oblivion.  Well,  be  it  so ;  let  former  times,  since  it  must 
be  so,  be  forgotten.  Let  the  name  of  Morni  be  forgotten, 
and  the  young  men  say,  "  Behold  the  father  of  Gaul  "  ; 
when  Campbells,  Craufords,  and  Wallaces  shall  be  passed 
away,  in  those  later  days  perhaps  some  fashionable  biogra- 
pher shall  arise  who,  celebrating  the  fame  of  his  young  hero, 
may  set  out  by  telling  us  his  father's  name  was  F.  W.  Burns, 
son  to  the  renowned  bard  of  that  name,  whose  contempo- 
rary writers  alledge  he  was  a  peasant  in  the  West,  but  whose 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      299 


works  prove  a  degree  of  erudition  inconsistent  with  that 
report,  as  it  seems  more  probable  he  had  been  the  son  of 
some  noble  Scot,  who,  for  some  crime,  perhaps  that  of 
fidelity  to  his  unfortunate  Kings,  had  forfeited  his  splendid 
situation  in  the  world,  and  been  driven  to  shelter  himself  in 
obscurity,  into  which  he  carried  those  brilliant  acquirements 
that  could  never  be  hidden,  but,  bursting  forth  in  the  eight- 
eenth century,  dazzled  the  world,  and,  spite  of  the  amazing 
revolutions  which  then  took  place  in  Europe  and  America, 
shared  so  much  of  their  divided  attention.  Meanwhile  the 
polish  of  western  manners  at  that  time  was  great,  so  that 
we  find  the  belles-lettres  cultivated  by  all  stations,  particu- 
larly among  the  female  sex.  In  Augt.  1789  a  chamber- 
maid in  Ayrshire,  the  early  residence  of  the  above-mentioned 
bard,  wrote  in  the  dialect  of  the  country  some  poems,  of 
which  we  have  the  following  lines  remaining.  Her  name 
was  Janet  Little,  but  critics  dispute  whether  she  had  it  from 
her  father,  or  because  her  genius  was  believed  of  the  dwarf- 
ish kind  —  a  species  of  stature  and  wit  then  imported  into 
Britain  by  the  famous  Count  Borowastic,  and  from  thence 
greatly  admired  and  sure  of  making  the  possessor's  fortune 
or  immortalising  his  memory.     The  lines  as  follows  :  — 

In  Royal  Anna's  golden  days 
Hard  was  the  task  to  gain  the  bays ; 
Difficult  was  the  hill  to  climb  ; 
Some  brak  a  neck,  some  lost  a  limb. 
The  votries  for  poetic  fame 
Got  off  decripet,  blind,  and  lame; 
Except  that  little  fellow  Pope, 
Few  ever  then  won  near  the  top  ; 
And  Homer's  crutches  he  may  thank, 
Or  down  the  brae  he  'd  got  a  clank. 
Addison,  Thompson,  Young,.and  Prior 
Did  mount  on  Pegasus  without  a  fear. 


300  Correspondence  between 

In  hopes  to  please  a  learned  age ; 

But  Doctor  Johnson  in  a  rage 

Unto  posterity  did  show 

Their  blunders  fast,  their  beauties  slow. 

But  now  he 's  dead,  ye  well  may  ken. 

When  ilka  sumph  maun  hae  a  pen. 

And  write  in  hamely  uncouth  rhymes, 

And  yet,  forsooth,  they  please  the  times. 

A  plowman  chiel,  Rab  Burns  his  name, 

Pretends  to  write  and  thinks  nae  shame 

To  souse  his  sonnets  on  the  Court; 

And  troth  what 's  strange,  they  praise  him  for 't, 

Ev'n  folks  that 's  of  the  highest  station 

Ca's  him  the  glory  of  our  nation ; 

z^th  August  '89. 

I  shall  set  out  for  Morham  Mains,  I  think,  about  the 
eighth  of  next  month  at  farthest,  but  will  hope  to  hear  from 
you  here  before  that  time,  and  that  you  will  give  me 
accounts  of  your  own  family,  where  I  trust,  spite  of  your 
silence,  all  goes  well,  and  I  may  already  wish  you  joy  of  the 
arrival  of  your  little  stranger,  which  my  own  indistinctness 
has,  I  presume,  hindered  me  from  seeing  anounced  to.  — 
Dr.  Sir,  yours,  etc.  etc.,  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  John,  fourth  Earl  of  Loudoun,  took  a  very 
active  part  in  repressing  the  Jacobite  Rebellion  of 
1745.  He  also  served  his  country  abroad,  being 
Governor  of  Virginia,  and  in  1756  Commander-in- 
Chief  of  the  forces  in  America.  He  spent  a  great 
deal  in  the  improvement  of  the  estate  of  Loudoun, 
particularly  in  planting,  his  specialty  being  willows. 
He  was  a  Scotch  representative  Peer  for  the  long 
period  of  forty-eight  years.     He  died  unmarried  in 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      301 

1782  in  his  seventy-seventh  year,  and  was  succeeded 
by  his  cousin,  James  Muir  Campbell,  fifth  Earl,  who 
married  Miss  Macleod  of  Raasay,  sister  of  the  Isa- 
bella of  Burns's  song,  "  Raving  winds  around  her 
blowing."  He  shot  himself  on  account  of  financial 
troubles  in  1786.  This  last  Earl  was  the  landlord  of 
the  Burnses  at  Mossgiel,  and  it  was  at  his  death  that 
the  farm  was  sold  to  Alexander  of  Ballochmyle.  He 
left  an  only  daughter,  afterwards  referred  to  as  the 
little  Countess,  who  took  the  Loudoun  estate  and 
title  into  the  Hastings  family  by  her  marriage  with 
the  first  Marquis.  Her  great-grandson  is  the  present 
Earl  of  Loudoun. 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop. 

Ellisland,  dth  Sept.  1789. 

Dear  Madam,  —  I  have  mentioned  in  my  last  my  ap- 
pointment to  the  Excise  and  the  birth  of  little  Frank,  who, 
by  the  bye,  I  trust  will  be  no  discredit  to  the  honorable 
name  of  Wallace,  as  he  has  a  fine  manly  countenance  and 
a  figure  that  might  do  credit  to  a  little  fellow  two  months 
older ;  and  likewise  an  excellent  good  temper,  though  when 
he  pleases  he  has  a  pipe,  only  not  quite  so  loud  as  the  horn  ^ 
that  his  immortal  namesake  blew  as  a  signal  to  take  out  the 
pin  of  Stirling  Bridge. 

I  had  some  time  an  epistle,  part  poetic  and  part  prosaic, 
from  your  poetess  Miss  J.  Little,^  a  very  ingenious,  but 
modest,  composition.  I  should  have  written  her  as  she 
requested,  but  for  the  hurry  of  this  new  business.  I  have 
heard  of  her  and  her  compositions  in  this  country,  and,  I 
am  happy  to  add,  always  to  the  honor  of  her  character. 
The  fact  is,  I  know  not  well  how  to  write  to  her :   I  should 


302  Correspondence  between 

sit  down  to  a  sheet  of  paper  that  I  knew  not  how  to  stain. 
I  am  no  dab  at  fine-drawn  letter-writing;  and,  except 
when  prompted  by  friendship  or  gratitude,  or,  which  hap- 
pens extremely  rarely,  inspired  by  the  Muse  (I  know  not  her 
name)  that  presides  over  epistolary  writing,  I  sit  down,  when 
necessitated  to  write,  as  I  would  sit  down  to  beat  hemp. 

Some  parts  of  your  letter  of  the  20th  August,  struck  me 
with  the  most  melancholy  concern  for  the  state  of  your 
mind  at  present.  .  .  . 

Would  I  could  write  you  a  letter  of  comfort !  I  would 
sit  down  to  it  with  as  much  pleasure  as  I  would  to  write  an 
epic  poem  of  my  own  composition  that  would  equal  the 
Iliad.  Religion,  my  dear  friend,  is  the  true  comfort !  A 
strong  persuasion  in  a  future  state  of  existence  ;  a  proposi- 
tion so  obviously  probable,  that,  setting  revelation  aside, 
every  nation  and  people,  so  far  as  investigation  has  reached, 
for  at  least  four  thousand  years,  have,  in  some  mode  or 
other,  firmly  believed  it.  In  vain  would  we  reason  and  pre- 
tend to  doubt.  I  have  myself  done  so  to  a  very  daring 
pitch  ;  but  when  I  reflected  that  I  was  opposing  the  most 
ardent  wishes  and  the  most  darling  hopes  of  good  men,  and 
flying  in  the  face  of  all  human  belief,  in  all  ages,  I  was 
shocked  at  my  own  conduct. 

I  know  not  whether  I  have  ever  sent  you  the  following 
lines,  or  if  you  have  ever  seen  them ;  but  it  is  one  of  my 
favourite  quotations,  which  I  keep  constantly  by  me  in  my 
progress  through  life,  in  the  language  of  the  book  of  Job, 

Against  the  day  of  battle  and  of  war  — 

spoken  of  religion : 

3  'Tis  this,  my  friend,  that  streaks  our  morning  bright, 
'T  is  this  that  gilds  the  horror  of  our  night : 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      303 

When  wealth  forsakes  us  and  when  friends  are  few ; 

When  friends  are  faithless  or  when  foes  pursue; 

'T  is  this  that  wards  the  blow  or  stills  the  smart, 

Disarms  affliction  or  repels  his  dart ; 

Within  the  breast  bids  purest  raptures  rise, 

Bids  smiling  conscience  spread  her  cloudless  skies. 

I  have  been  very  busy  with  Zeluco.  The  doctor  is  so 
obhging  as  to  request  my  opinion  of  it ;  and  I  have  been 
revolving  in  my  mind  some  kind  of  criticisms  on  novel- 
writing,  but  it  is  a  depth  beyond  my  research.  I  shall, 
however,  digest  my  thoughts  on  the  subject  as  well  as  I  can. 
Zeluco  is  a  most  sterling  performance. 

Farewell !  —  A  Dieu,  le  bon  Dieu,  je  vous  commende. 

R.  B. 

(i)  Fra  Jop  the  horn  he  hyntyt  and  couth  blaw 
Sa  asprely,  and  warned  gud  Jhon  Wricht : 
The  rowar  out  he  straik  with  gret  slycht ; 
The  laifif  zeid  doun,  quhen  the  pynnysont  gais. 
A  hidwys  cry  amang  the  peple  rais ; 
Bathe  hers  and  men  in  to  the  wattir  fell ! 

Schir  William  Wallace,  book  7,  lines  1 180-5. 

Jop  (formerly  Grymmysbe)  was  a  pursuivant  of 
Edward. 

(2)  It  is  not  known  if  Burns  replied  to  her  letter. 
She  afterwards  visited  Ellisland  to  obtain  an  interview 
with  Burns,  but  failed,  as  the  poet  had  broken  his 
arm,  and  was  confined  to  bed. 

(3)  These  lines  are  from  Verses  to  James  Hervey 
on  his  Meditations,  by  a  physician.  They  are  usually 
prefixed  to  the  Meditations  and  Contemplations. 


304  Correspondence  between 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns,  Elliesland, 

Dumfries. 

MoRHAME  Mains,  6th  Sept.  1789. 
[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinr.,  Ninth  Septr.  1789.] 

Dr.  Burns,  —  I  told  you  my  fears  for  Susan.  Providence 
has  verified  the  presages,  but  in  a  way  I  thought  not  of. 
She  is  well  as  I  could  dare  to  hope,  but  her  child  has  paid 
the  price  of  her  redemption,  and,  believe  me,  I  account  it  a 
small  one,  and  bless  that  hand  which  has  been  pleased  to 
take  the  innocent  babe  to  itself,  though  in  a  way  that  gave 
me  the  most  alarming  fears  for  the  mother's  life.  Just  the 
day  after  I  wrote  you  last,  I  got  an  express  telling  me  she 
was  delivered  of  a  dead  boy  in  consequence  of  a  fright  she 
had  got  by  one  of  the  horses  falling  down  in  a  strong  convul- 
sion as  she  was  airing  in  a  carriage  about  ten  days  before. 
Those,  my  friend,  are  secured  from  such  accidents  who  have 
no  carriage.  Let  us  learn  to  know  and  mark  the  advantages 
of  our  lot  with  a  gratefully  contented  heart  and  a  justly  dis- 
tinguishing eye.  I  had  a  carriage,  but,  having  also  a  lame 
horse,  could  not  use  it  to  fly  to  my  distrest  child.  I  sent  to 
hire,  but  could  find  none.  I  set  out  on  foot  to  beg  from 
Cunninghame  Lienshaw  one  to  Kilmarnock,  and  so  got  to 
Loudoun  in  time  to  find  the  child  buried  and  the  dis- 
appointed mother  in  all  the  agonies  of  departed  hope  and 
bodily  weakness.  I  staid  with  her  till  the  tenth  day  was 
past,  when  I  left  her  pretty  much  recovered  to  the  care  of 
her  grandmother  and  sisters,  and  set  about  preparing  to  set 
out  for  this,  when  the  same  post  brought  me  your  letter  and 
one  from  John  telling  me  his  wife  had  likeways  brought  him 
a  son,  and  begging  to  see  me  with  all  convenient  speed.  I 
set  off  on  Thursday  night  at  seven  o'clock,  came  to  Glasgow, 
and  even  there  could  hardly  find  a  chaise ;  got  one  by 
twelve,  and  after  spending  all  night  on  the  road,   arrived 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      305 


here  next  morning,  where  I  found  all  so  well  that  I  might 
just  as  well  have  staid  quietly  at  home,  and  enjoyed  the 
sood  luck  these  twin  letters  had  announced,  and  which  I 
hope  shall  long  be  preserved  for  the  happiness  of  all  con- 
cerned. One  would  have  thought  I  had  some  presentiment 
of  what  a  hurry  I  should  be  put  in  when  I  welcomed  the 
little  Wallace  so  long  ago,  for  indeed  I  should  now  hardly 
have  commanded  time  for  his  reception.  Why  has  he  no 
companion  to  chear  his  journey  through  the  dreary  vale,  or 
do  you  expect  he  is  to  be  worth  two  himself  that  he  is  thus 
degraded  by  coming  single  ?  However,  a  sturdy  boy  and  a 
stout  recovering  mother  are  sufficient  to  a  reasonable  man. 
It  would  be  truly  poetic  to  look  for  more.  I  cannot  tell  you 
the  agitation  your  letter  occasioned  me ;  't  is  the  fate  of  your 
pen  to  express  more  at  a  stroke  than  others  can  convey  in 
volumes,  but  never  was  it  more  strongly  shewed  than  in  this 
letter.  My  superannuated  sight  and  the  flutter  of  my  spirits 
at  the  premature  intelligence  from  East  Lothian  prevented 
my  distinguishing  an  ornamental  flourish  your  poetic  quill 
had  described  in  writing  £  :,  which  I  took  for  a  first  figure. 
By  this  error  my  generous  imagination  bestowed  just  an 
additional  hundred  a  year  on  my  friend,  and  I  dare  honestly 
aver  no  hundred  ever  gave  me  so  great  pleasure.  I  revelled 
on  the  delightful  idea,  which  accompanyed  me  above  an  hun- 
dred miles,  when  an  unfortunate  newspaper,  which  explained 
the  late  agmentation,  created  a  suspicion,  and  a  further  in- 
spection of  the  letter  destroyed  the  golden  dream,  and  forced 
me  to  retract  the  pleasing  error  which  had  made  me  so 
happy.  I  had  blest  Graham  with  as  much  fervor  as  the  old 
Patriarch  did  Jacob  when  he  tasted  the  savory  meat.  Isaac 
was  deceived  too,  yet  the  blessing  stuck ;  perhaps  so  will 
mine.     I  sincerely  wish  it  for  your  sake,  who  knows  not 

VOL.  I. —  20 


306  Correspondence  between 

how  good  I  am  in  doing  so,  for  do  you  know  he  affronted 
me  by  wholly  overlooking  my  letter.  I  could  not  have  for- 
given this,  had  he  not  proved  he  could  not  overlook  what 
merited  his  notice  by  his  attentions  to  you,  which  irrevo- 
cably secure  him  my  best  wishes,  spite  of  the  envy  with 
which  I  read  your  pathetic  address  of  thanks.  Would  I 
could  have  served  you  so  as  to  have  deserved  such  !  But, 
since  that  can  never  be,  may  he  continue  to  deserve  them, 
if  possible  doubly,  on  whom  they  are  now  so  feelingly  be- 
stowed. I  have  a  mind  surely  singularly  susceptible  of  the 
passion  of  envy,  since  many  and  oft  have  been  the  times 
when  the  mention  of  your  mother  has  excited  it  in  my 
heart,  I  hope,  however,  she  was  not  left  you  when  the 
news  reached  you  that  would  make  her  happy ;  so  you  see, 
though  envious,  I  am  not  malevolent.  You  might  have  told 
me  if  your  brother's  schemes  of  improvement  lay  in  Annan- 
dale  and  promised  success,  but  perhaps  this  is  an  en- 
croaching question.  If  so,  treat  it,  like  Fintry,  with  silent 
contempt,  and  I  shall,  as  I  have  done  on  that  occasion,  for- 
get and  forgive  it,  nay,  perhaps  even  think  it  was  only  an 
act  of  grace  and  propriety.  So  you  really  admire  Charlotte 
Smith;  so  do  I.  I  wish  you  admired  Zeluco  too,  that  I 
might  plead  favour  with  the  author  by  telling  him  so,  for 
I  have  been  greatly  in  fault  to  him  of  late.  How  shall  I 
thank  you  for  remembering  me  so  kindly  amid  all  your 
hurry  of  business,  while  I,  who  am  incapable  of  business, 
find  it  so  difficult  to  remember  the  very  friends  that  cling 
forever  closest  to  my  heart.  Can  you  believe  I  have  not 
wrot  the  Dr.  since  the  letter  I  sent  him  by  you,  and  which 
seemed  wholly  penned  for  the  sake  of  another ;  but  there  is 
a  greatness  of  soul  in  that  man  which  enables  him  to  dis- 
cover that  the  strongest  mark  of  real  esteem  and  regard  is 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      307 

that  confidence  of  friendship  which  inclines  us  to  interest 
our  friends  in  the  fate  of  all  we  ourselves  approve,  and  be- 
lieve worthy  of  their  approbation  and  friendship ;  so  that, 
while  I  wished  to  recommend  your  concerns  to  him,  I  'm 
sure  I  paid  him  the  most  acceptable  compliment  in  my 
power,  and  I  would  not  have  had  more  satisfaction  in  it 
than  he  would  have  felt  had  it  fallen  in  his  power  to  serve 
you.  The  end  of  my  paper  now  reminds  me  of  bidding 
you  farewell,  and  I  am  called  to  tea  besides ;  else  I  would 
have  given  you  some  lines  I  wrot  some  days  ago,  along  with 
five  shillings,  which  I  could  not  well  present,  without  a 
wrapper.  At  least  something,  perhaps  the  love  of  scrib- 
bling, told  me  so,  and  as  it  was  an  innocent  amusement,  I 
indulged  myself  in  what  hurt  nobody  else.  Adieu.  —  Be 
ever  certain  of  the  best  wishes  of         Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

I  shall  be  here  a  fortnight  at  least ;  so  hope  to  hear. 

Ad.  Mr.  Robert  Burns,  Elliesland, 
Dumfries. 

MoRHAM  Mains,  20th  Sept.  1789. 
[Franked  by  Kerr:  Edinr.,  Twenty-third  Septr.  1789.] 

My  Dr.  Sir,  —  You  tell  me  you  sympathise  with  a  state 
of  mind  most  of  your  sex  laugh  at,  and  wish  to  write  me  a 
letter  of  comfort.  You  say  this  with  your  usual  strength  of 
expression,  so  forcibly  that  the  very  wish  seems  to  accom- 
plish its  end,  and  changes  the  tenour  of  my  spirits  more 
than  I  thought  had  been  in  the  power  of  man  or  of,  in- 
deed, any  event,  unless  the  actual  arrival  of  a  letter  from 
my  dear  Anton.  Yet  we  are  told  no  man  knows  himself; 
I  may  add  nor  woman  neither,  for  my  mood  was  become 
merry  even  before  I  reached  your  sweet  consolatory  verses, 
and  I  had  discovered,  contrary  to  your  assertion,  that  religion, 


308  Correspondence  between 

though  perhaps  the  best,  is  not  the  only  sweetener  of  our 
real  or  dreaded  afflictions.     There  is  what  the  doctors  call 
a  succedaneum,  and  I  find  it   in  the    very  sight  of  your 
hand  on  paper,  which  inspires  something  not  rhyme-proof, 
for  it  sets  me  often  a  scribbling,  when  I  daresay  you  must 
discover  I  have  nothing  on  which  to  found  the  baseless 
fabrick  of  the  vision.     But  that  is  all  one ;  it  amuses  me, 
and,   as   an   undoubted    proof  of  my  friendship,   I    hope 
pleases  you.     At  least,  I  can  honestly  assure  you  nothing 
you  could  send  me  that  brought  me  conviction  of  yours 
would  fail   of  producing  the    most  pleasing   sensation  of 
which  the  human  mind  is  capable  —  far  beyond  the  pic- 
tures of  Raphael,  the  music  of  Handel,  or,  I  believe,  the 
very  poetry  of  any  author  whatever,  not  excepting  yourself. 
I  intended  writing  you  last  night,  but  happening  to  lift  the 
"Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"   it  was  impossible    for  me  to 
close  the  book  without  reading  it,  tho'  for  the  five  hundred 
time.     Do,  I  beg  you,  try  if  you  can  make  anything  now 
like  it.     I  'm  sure  no  one  else  I  have  ever  seen  can ;  but 
I  '11  say  no  more  of  it,  or  I  could  speak  of  nothing  else, 
and  I  have  much  nonsense  crowding  to  my  pen  in  conse- 
quence of  your  writing  me  or  of  your  not  writing  poor  Jenny 
Little,  for  which  you  give  a  true  female  reason,  because 
doing  what  is  right  is  like   beating  hemp.     Consider,  my 
dear  friend,  we  ought  all  to  be  very  often  made  beat  hemp, 
and  put  for  life  in  the  correction-house,  or  as  they  name 
it  in  Holland,  the  for-bettering  house,  to  oblige  us  to  do 
what  reason  approves  or  good-nature  demands,  whether  it 
happens  to  coincide  with  the  whim  of  the  minute  or  not. 
Heaven  knows  I  am  not  practising  just  now,  or  I  should 
rather  write  poor  Jenny  myself  than  employ  myself  preach- 
ing duties  to  you,  which  you  both  know  and,  I  am  con- 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop      309 

vinced,  perform  much  better  than  ever  I  did  or  ever  will 
do,  unless  Providence  should  wholly  regenerate  my  nature. 
And  if  the  new  composition,  with  all  its  perfections,  should 
not  happen  to  hit  the  capricious  fancy  of  some  few  of  my 
former  friends,  I  would  beg  and  pray  to  resume  the  old 
woman,  with  all  her  imperfections,  abating  the  blindness 
which  prevents  me  from  their  converse  on  paper,  and  the 
deafness  which  diminishes  the  joy  of  meeting.  But  though 
I  can  hardly  answer  it.  Lord  be  praised  !  I  can  read  a 
letter,  even  concluding  with  a  French  compliment,  with 
unspeakable  delight,  where  that  very  compliment  breathes 
French  freedom  and  EngHsh  honesty  or  Scots  kindness, 
which,  let  me  acknowledge,  is  more  congenial  to  my  birth, 
and  consequently  dearer  to  my  heart,  than  either  the  one 
or  the  other,  notwithstanding  the  great  novelty  of  the  first. 
But  now  for  verse,  as  ever  since  you  told  me  how  much 
you  preferred  it,  I  have  liked  rhyme  and  rhymers.  Nay, 
not  only  so,  but  a  friend  of  mine  some  time  ago  having 
unfortunately  one  day  told  me  he  hated  poetry,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  do  justice  to  the  thousand  good  quali- 
ties he  possesses  ever  since,  but  have  half-hated  him  spite 
of  the  finest  eyes  in  the  world,  and  I  believe  one  of  the 
best  hearts  it  contains.  Were  you  an  unmarried  man,  I 
would  be  ashamed  to  expose  so  much  caprice,  but  I  hope 
you  know  to  value  our  sex  with  all  their  little  amiable  weak- 
nesses, nay  even  consider  our  faults,  like  the  spots  and 
blemishes  of  a  Mocha-stone,  as  so  many  beauties  that  in- 
crease our  value.     I  read  your  Elegy  and  wrot :  — 

The  tears  of  fair  Myra,  once  shed  in  despair, 
Now  sweeten  our  garments  and  perfume  our  hair. 
The  tears  of  Golconda  cast  orient  day, 
Pour'd  rich  from  the  diamond's  brilliant  ray. 


3IO  Correspondence  between 

I  read  your  last  letter,  and  it  mixing  with  something  that 
went  before  it,  produced  as  follows :  — 

Tell  me,  my  friend,  thy  comprehensive  mind. 
From  high  Parnassus  has  explor'd  mankind, 
View'd  every  object  this  wide  world  contains. 
Through  the  fine  medium  of  poetic  brains ; 
Try'd  every  doubt  cold  wisdom  can  suggest 
By  the  pure  fire  that  warms  a  poet's  breast. 
Why  instinct  only  to  poor  brutes  is  given. 


I  take  a  new  sheet  and  shall  stain  it,  I  think,  by  telling 
you  there  are  proposals  printed  for  publishing  Mr.  Mylne's^ 
works.  Now,  as  I  mean  to  send  you  a  copy  of  the  book  in 
a  present  when  published,  will  you  allow  me  to  honour  the 
subscription  with  your  name  ?  I  have  only  one  objection, 
which  is,  the  friends  intend  inscribing  it  to  Henry  the 
ninth,^  who  was  at  school  with  the  author,  who  then  wrote 
a  poem  addrest  to  him  beginning  with  these  lines. 

Ode  to  Mr.  Henry  Dundas,  written  at  the  Grammar 
School  at  Dalkeith,  by  James  Mylne,  now  farmer  in  E. 
Lothian :  — 

Wilt  thou  remember  then  a  friend, 
So  far  beneath  thee  plac'd  by  fate  ? 
Away  false  fears  that  injure  him ! 
Hence  low  distrust  of  my  desert ! 
While  I  deserve  his  love,  no  time 
Shall  wean  me  from  my  Harry's  heart. 
In  youth  yon  oak  and  ivy  joined. 
Not  equal  they,  yet  close  they  grew; 
Time  has  their  boughs  so  intertwin'd 
No  force  can  them  dissever  now. 

Mr.  Dundas  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  the  poet 
through  life,  but,  as  far  as  I  can  hear,  never  did  him  any 
favour.     He  has  indeed  promised  to  assist  one  of  his  sons. 


Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop     311 

and  if  he  does,  will  have  a  better  right  than  I  would  at 
present  subscribe  to  for  the  credit  of  the  friend  or  the  book. 
Write  me  here,  and  tell  me  if  I  shall  mark  your  name  or 
only  my  own.  I  know  they  will  wish  yours  if  you  don't 
think  it  can  injure  yourself  to  lend  it ;  I  shall  not  be  longer 
here  than  two  weeks,  so  pray  write  soon  if  you  don't  find  it 
too  inconvenient  a  sacrifice  to  the  happiness  of,  Dr.  Sir,  your 
sincere  friend  and  humble  sert.,  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

(i)  James  Mylne  (see  antea,  p.  226,  etc.).  Mrs. 
Dunlop  was  here  asking  permission  to  add  Burns's 
name  to  the  list  of  subscribers  for  his  poems,  where 
it  actually  appeared.  See  Mrs.  Dunlop's  letter  of 
19th  October,  postea,  vol.  ii.  p.  7. 

(2)  "Henry  the  ninth"  was  Henry  Dundas,  treas- 
urer of  the  Navy,  Pitt's  friend,  his  Grand  Vizier  for 
Scotland,  who,  there  is  reason  to  believe,  was  not  well 
affected  to  Burns.     See  Chambers,  vol.  iii.  p.  242,  etc. 


To  Burns. 


FRAGMENT 

SENT  WITH  A   CROWN  TO  J.   L. 

Once  Fate  the  lots  of  mortals  cast ; 

Monarchs  came  first,  but  poets  last. 

Jove  called  the  synod  of  his  gods 

To  rectify  the  partial  odds  : 

The  court  was  open'd  by  Apollo, 

"  Ye  powers,  if  my  advice  you  'd  follow, 

Since  kings  are  cap't  with  crowns  of  gold, 

A  silver  crown  let  poets  hold." 

Great  Jove  just  then  was  reading  Bums, 

And  ev'ry  god  had  peeped  by  turns  ; 

So  for  the  glory  of  Old  Ayr, 

The  vote  was  put  and  carried  fair. 


312      Robert  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop 

As  spoksman  for  the  tuneful!  class 

Up  starts  a  stout  and  strapping  lass ; 

"  Ye  Antechristian  Pagan  powers, 

What  paultry  barb'rous  favours  yours, 

111  suited  to  poetic  brains, 

Whose  treasuries  thousand  worlds  contains 

Above  each  mercenary  craft. 

My  tether-stake 's  a  besom  shaft, 

And  he  who  's  favour'd  most  by  you, 

Like  Trismegistus,  holds  a  plough 

(I  wish  't  were  better  worth  his  hold), 

(And  beat  from  Oswald's  purest  gold)." 

Her  egis  here  Minerva  shook, 
And  loud  and  wisely  thus  she  spoke : 
"  Silver  to  age  can  comfort  give, 
Or  make  a  lover's  passion  live ; 
Of  worldly  things  ne'er  make  a  pother. 
Take  this  yourself  or  give  't  your  mother." 

And  do  you  really  think  Charlotte  Smith's  elegy  so  super- 
lative? I  wish  I  had  it  to  read  again,  for  I  must  confess 
I  did  not  even  think  it  the  best  of  her  own  works,  but  I 
dare  say  I  must  not  have  done  it  justice,  since  you  honour 
it  with  so  high  a  place  in  your  esteem.  Or  may  not  even 
your  taste  be  sometimes  a  little  subject  to  whim?  I  hope 
your  friendship  is  that  my  weak  claim  may  retain  it;  or 
shall  I  rather  trust  to  your  gratitude  for  that  sincere  esteem 
with  which  I  must  ever  remain,  Dr.  Sir,  your  obliged  and 
obedient  humble  sert.,  Fran.  A.  Dunlop. 

I  beg  to  hear  of  the  mother  and  child ;  ours  are  better 
and  better  hourly. 


END   OF  VOL.  I. 


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